


I Won't Tell Anyone That Your Voice Is My Favorite Sound

by sonnie



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bad Communication, Book Recommendations, Canon-Typical Violence, Cooking, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Feelings, Futurama References, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Insecurity, Love Confessions, Movie Night, Multi, Mutual Pining, Off-screen Character Death, Peter Needs a Hug, Pianos, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Star Trek References, Star Wars References, Tea Parties, Team as Family, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2018-12-09 04:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 73,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11661210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonnie/pseuds/sonnie
Summary: After an attack by Green Goblin, Michelle is stuck spending a few weeks upstate at the Avenger's Facility with Peter Parker, who's out of commission until his powers fully return.  She gets some great recommendations on music, books, movies, food and wine pairings, and apparently, prospective boyfriends."Peter, I didn't know you had a girlfriend!"Darcy's voice is going to haunt her until the end of time, becauseoh,how Michelle wishes that were true.





	1. Fools in Love are Zeros

Michelle is admittedly jealous of Gwen Stacy.  


It’s not for the reason one might think. Michelle isn’t threatened that Gwen is pretty and approachable. Michelle has never found those traits to be of any value as applied to her personally but doesn’t begrudge Gwen for having them. She doesn’t hate or even dislike Gwen; it’s just that while neither girl exerts effort to draw in Peter Parker, he falls effortlessly into Gwen’s orbit and drifts farther away from Michelle.  


Just by existing, Gwen has won something Michelle can barely admit to wanting.  


Peter’s resulting infatuation is like Liz all over again, except not, because Peter can actually talk to Gwen without stammering. When he stares at her he receives adoring looks in return; Gwen picks up on his crush immediately and makes things easy for him by starting conversations and helping him study for Decathlon, even though she’s not on the team. It’s an unselfish offer because she’s so damn _nice_ and deserving of someone as good as Peter. They meet in the middle of sophomore year—a mere two months after Liz leaves—and date for another four.  


Peter shows up to every Decathlon practice so he can tell Gwen that their study sessions are helping. They hold hands on the way to class and peck each other on the cheeks. They thankfully don’t make out in the hallways but just the act of witnessing them _look_ at each other makes her and Ned queasy, and they’re not shy about saying so. He’s so light and easy and not secretive at all—Michelle would find him boring, except he smiles more than she can ever recall seeing and it’s actually kind of nice.  


-  


Gwen dies in a horrible fall that Spider-Man isn’t able to save her from, and Peter is more depressed than Michelle can ever remember—even after losing Uncle Ben. It happens three weeks before the end of the school year and all of Midtown School of Science and Technology mourn alongside him, but Michelle, secretly compassionate creature and apparently huge masochist that she is, winds up helping him through it when no one else can manage to say or do the right thing to help.  


The time Peter and Michelle spend alone together exists in a vacuum; it’s totally different than the time they spend together at school and practice where she needles and snaps. She invites him over with no expectations of any progress and doesn’t force him to talk about his feelings. They nap, eat comfort food, watch movies, and read books. There’s usually very little talking involved, so he doesn’t have to worry about a verbal minefield like he does with Aunt May or Ned. It’s as relaxing as she can make it, which is pretty damned soothing considering how unobtrusive she can be what she wants. It’s gratifying to be able to help him at all, to watch the anxiety drain out of him so that maybe he can find a few moments of peace. What begins as a few weeks of idyll slowly sprawl into months of stolen evenings; he still spends time with May and Ned, but it’s just _different_ with her.  


During this time she confirms her suspicion that he’s Spider-Man. There’s no grandiose discovery or explanation, it just kind of…happens when he’s a little too careless about his suit falling out of his backpack. Peter doesn’t have the energy to be worried about her finding out and under different circumstances, Michelle might be pissed that he’s keeping such a big secret. But he tells her everything that happens the night Gwen died. He cries and she vaguely remembers wiping tears from his freckled cheeks and wrapping her slender arms around his trembling rib cage. They fall asleep on her bed and to her surprise he’s still there three hours later when she wakes up, sound asleep and more relaxed than she remembers seeing. They part without a shred of embarrassment.  


Michelle thinks he’s brave for continuing the fight when he feels like a failure every time he puts on the suit, but even in his grief, he never quits. She can tell he’s being reckless by the sheer number of cuts and bruises he comes back to her with, and after his arm is grazed by a bullet she really does lay into him about staying safe. But she will never ask him to stop; she can tell he needs this. And even if he takes off the mask and burns the suit, he’ll still be a superhero.  


-  


Once he’s somewhat back to normal, Michelle finds Peter doesn’t stop hanging out with her. That’s weird. Usually people use or take what they need from her and leave, which is why she’s avoided making friends for so long. The tone has changed a little between them; without the pall of sadness and his overwhelming grief keeping their interactions strictly platonic, she’s suddenly vulnerable. She becomes painfully aware that what could formerly pass for comfort does not quite feel so innocent anymore. Within the safety she provided for him, Peter has morphed into a threat. He continues on as they always have—their activities haven’t changed, but she finds herself surrendering more and more of herself in the process. Her breath hitches when he sits too close and her pulse quickens when they accidentally touch. Two people reading in the same room has become more about two people getting together to read. They nap on the same piece of furniture now and occasionally end up entwined. What was once carry out arriving at his apartment is now a cooking lesson or two so she can learn how to make more than Nutella sandwiches.  


It’s an infinitesimal shift.  


It’s not an insignificant one.  


Peter has always borrowed her jacket, so in retaliation she begins to steal his plaid shirts. He still has her favorite sweater from sophomore year and she is keeping his favorite pair of socks _and_ his favorite hoodie (even though it’s maroon). Michelle realizes she’s been subconsciously wearing clothes for the past six months that they can share, which may have something to do with how heavily masculine her wardrobe has been leaning, just a tiny bit. She’s already been buying her trousers, jackets, and boots from the men’s department since she was thirteen because nothing in the junior’s department is long enough or durable. But now before plunking down cash, she thinks about what colors he might like. She buys more blues and greens so she can see them against his skin, all the while lamenting about how far gone on him she is when she realizes what she's doing.  


Michelle has been struggling with her feelings since freshman year—honestly until then, she thought she was aromantic and possibly ace. The only reason Peter ever piqued her interest at first was his secrecy and she wanted to know what he was hiding. Michelle only pays attention to things that are out of the ordinary, and watching Peter slink around was pretty damn interesting because someone so unassuming shouldn’t be living a double life. So he bore the brunt of her impressive scrutiny until she cracked the case, even if she didn’t really get a definitive answer simply by sleuthing.  


Peter’s probably one of the few guys at Midtown that doesn’t feel entitled to making a reciprocated pass at her despite all the time they spend alone together, which confuses Michelle even more. A part of her is relieved she doesn’t have to worry about him suddenly throwing her off balance by making a move, though the fact he doesn’t bring up the issue of their ambiguous relationship at all makes her wonder if he’s content with being close friends and has no interest in anything else. It’s annoying that _clearly_ she must care more about it than he does. She never thought she’d be more pathetic than him.  


Peter’s a superhero that helped save the world. Like, he’s so out of her league it hurts her heart to contemplate. Somehow their entire school hasn’t found out his secret, but he has no shortage of female admirers despite how much of a nerd he is. They’re high school students, for fuck’s sake; that’s the backdrop she has to work with. Plus, the omnipresent Flash Thompson will no doubt attempt to humiliate her in front of Peter if they ever dated. He’s such a buzz kill that Michelle would never want to risk him upsetting Peter in any way. Everything about the environment they inhabit discourages her.  


It sucks. Peter is a colossal dork, _yeah_ , but he’s also a total babe. Michelle is never, _ever_ going to tell him the latter in so many words, but she’s spent a lot of time looking and not as much time as she’d like touching, and she’s never going to find him in any way physically lacking because damn it, she’s been paying attention all these years. There’s an embarrassing part in her hindbrain that finds his muscles stupid hot and shorts out her speech functions when she really needs to be firing off sarcastic one-liners.  


On the other hand, Michelle knows there’s nothing exactly wrong with her appearance, but she literally doesn’t try. She shuns makeup, doesn’t tame her hair, and dresses like a twenty-something male barista at a coffee house that plays Neutral Milk Hotel albums on vinyl. She doesn’t dress down because she hates traditionally feminine things (despite popular belief), it’s just that girly shit takes fucking forever and books don’t read themselves. Normally it suits her just fine, but honestly, Peter probably deserves a little more effort on her part. He’s got a six pack and perfectly sculpted biceps and she feels like a potato by comparison.  


It’s not because she thinks she’s an embarrassment to him; Michelle is more than happy to scream “fuck the patriarchy!” and then not shave her legs, but insecurity gets the best of her sometimes. Peter is the most patient, bravest person she knows, in no small part for putting up with her. The last girl he had feelings for was outgoing, sweet, and beautiful—conventionally so. Before Michelle could even admit to herself that was harboring more than just a harmless crush, it was hard watching Peter pine so evidently for someone so completely unlike herself.  


Michelle is no Liz Toomes, nor is she a Gwen Stacy.  


That is the crux of the problem. Michelle doesn’t have stylish hair or a megawatt smile and she’s certainly not miss congeniality. She strolls into school with ashy skin or wet hair if she occasionally runs out of time in the morning. It’s fine— _completely fine_ —because that’s how she wants to look and she’s not going to strive to be a ten when the average man looks like warm coleslaw. Conversely, she has no problem shutting down the assholes that cat-call her when she wears a pair of shorts to the bodega around the corner. The ability to verbally emasculate another person is usually not on any man's wish list for a girlfriend.  


A tiny voice in her brain suggests that maybe he’s looking for a sign beyond the same eye rolls and sarcastic jabs she’s been supplying since she was fifteen. But the last thing Michelle needs is her awkward crush on one of her only friends getting even more awkward by suddenly flicking the off switch on her insults. She mentally cringes at the thought of dramatically changing her appearance—of all the challenges standing between her and Peter, his perception of her looks is not even in the top ten—but anyone that claims that physical attractiveness in a partner isn’t important is full of shit.  


It would be a passive aggressive way to jump start that particular conversation, but Michelle’s too stubborn to initiate it—she has to initiate _every fucking thing_. Michelle pretends it’s something easy standing in the way, like her looks, because the alternative is Peter having objections to something more intrinsic about her, like her personality.  


Michelle always pushes people away before they find a reason on their own. It’s a system she lives by, knowing that the people that believe she’s as aloof as she pretends weed themselves out, so unworthy of everything good she has to offer because they cannot _see_.

Michelle wonders how long she's willing to wait to see if Peter sets himself apart.

-  


_Where the hell is Peter?”_  


Trying not to roll her eyes, Michelle ignores Peter’s empty chair for the second time this week.  


_I swear to God, Peter, if your ass isn’t here in two minutes, Flash is going to bitch non-stop for the next ninety minutes and you’re going to owe me big time…_  


Trying not to show outward signs of distress, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and gets to work. One minute Michelle is queuing up some flashcards for Academic Decathlon practice, the next she’s lying on her back staring straight up at the library ceiling. She doesn’t remember being knocked off her feet. She vaguely registers screaming and smoke and a vaguely familiar but distorted voice calling her name.  


Someone is standing over her and he’s _ugly as fuck_.  


It’s likely a mask, but Michelle honestly isn’t sure because her ears are ringing and the warm stuff pouring out of her nose is probably blood and it’s running into her mouth and the metallic taste is distracting as hell. Almost in slow motion, the man reaches for her, his glove brushing her neck before he’s body checked by all sixty four kilograms of Peter Benjamin Parker. There’s a scuffle and she’s helped to her feet by Ned Leeds, whose eyes are comically wide as they track Peter and the intruder fighting over by the Gothic Horror Lit section.  


(Normally she’d be appalled to see books being destroyed, but it’s Michelle’s least favorite area. Like, every protagonist is a secret half-sibling to their love interest and it’s kind of gross.)  


Michelle doesn’t remember yelling Peter’s name, but it escapes her lips when she sees him take a brutal punch from the masked man. Ned’s hand on her arm prevents her from actually marching over there, but the disruption of her voice is enough to give Peter the upper hand. She doesn’t actually want to leave, but Ned’s twice her size and forcing her out the door. Once they get outside, he gives her a sidelong glance before she gives him unnecessary permission to leave her and find Betty Brant. There’s no telling how much damage this guy’s done to the rest of the school before reaching the library.  


Peter doesn’t emerge from the school until four minutes later, well after the sirens start. He makes his way to her immediately and they almost collapse in each other’s arms. She can feel his fingers mapping her features and seeking out unmarked, unharmed skin and it feels nice even though everything hurts. He tears the maroon hoodie from her and throws it to the ground before she can protest, and she realizes it’s so he can check her for more injuries. His right hand cups her elbow as he stares at the steady drip of blood leaking from her right nostril.  


Blinking, Michelle realizes she’s been massively unhelpful during all of this. She yanks her white t-shirt off and leans forward, holding it to the bridge of her nose and applying pressure. She’s silently praising the athleisure gods that she's wearing a black bralette, so she doesn’t feel as vulnerable as she would in conventional undergarments. Disrobing unwittingly reveals her back to Peter, who stares at where her skin is mottled red. He knows that in a day's time she'll be covered in bruises. None of the skin is broken though, which is more than she can say about him.  


Michelle is about to ask if he’s alright before Flash Thompson approaches and demands if she’s okay. Flash’s hand on her upper arm pulls her from Peter’s grip to tilt her back so he can look her in the eye, and it sends a torrent of blood down the back of her throat from her still-bleeding nose. She starts coughing and sputtering but has the sense to grab Peter’s sleeve before his knee-jerk reaction sends Flash to the hospital. She manages to curse out Flash effectively with her pinched nostrils for not knowing proper first aid.  


When they're alone again, Michelle curls back towards Peter, positioning her mouth by his ear so she doesn’t have to speak loudly. “Is that guy who attacked us still in there, you think?”  


Peter shakes his head. “He ran off when he realized the police were on their way. Flash must have called the cops as soon as he showed up.”  


“I guess I’ll have to stop trolling him for being wrong all the time,” Michelle mutters. She wraps her arm tighter around his middle.  


“I wouldn’t go that far,” Peter advises. He’s sporting one hell of a shiner and a busted lip, which is hardly a unique occurrence, but his fierce expression is wholly new. He’s thrumming with energy and a thin tremor runs through him that she can feel.  


“Peter, are you okay?”  


“I don’t—I—yeah,” Peter stutters, “I’m good.”  


Michelle rolls her eyes, nudging his knee with hers.  


“I don’t feel right,” Peter finally admits. “There might have been something in that smoke that’s affecting me. I feel really slow and weak, like I haven’t eaten or slept in days.”  


“I just feel like I got my ass kicked,” Michelle jokes. When Peter doesn’t even crack a grin, she pokes his arm. “Call Stark, and call him before he sees it on the news or hears about it from Happy and gets pissed at you. This guy attacked a fucking school. He sure messed with the wrong goddamn after school group, though.”  


Peter’s brown eyes are burning holes into her and Michelle knows she looks like hell. She lowers the t-shirt away from her face, confident the bleeding has stopped. The clotted blood makes the fabric stick together and she eventually tosses the shirt away altogether in disgust. She’s seen Peter like this several times since she’s found out he’s Spider-Man, injured and afraid.  


It occurs to Michelle that he’s seen her concerned, like at the Washington Monument, but it was only for a moment before he ran off to save their friends. He’s never seen her scared the way she is now, or hurt in any way, not even a paper cut. Peter reaches for her with his other hand and they tuck their faces against the other one’s neck. His fingers are warm against the skin of her back. She’s not quite sure how long they stay like that, only that when they finally part her shaking has stopped.  


She gives her statement to police but there’s not much to tell. It happened in less than two minutes. The school refuses to let her leave at first—even though she’s eighteen—until her brother can pick her up. Kevin’s working a double at Metro-General and won’t be free for at least ten hours, unless she wants to go to the hospital to get fixed up. Michelle flat out argues with paramedics ( _“My brother is a doctor. I’m know that I’m FINE! I’m not going with you!_ ”) and refuses all medical assistance.  


Peter is on his phone the whole time she’s occupied, but he must have done as she asked, because Flash nearly dies of a heart attack when Tony Stark pulls up to the school within the hour. The bright blue Audi is really over the top.  


“It’s time to go, Peter!”  


Peter doesn’t budge.  


Sighing dramatically and rolling his eyes, Tony motions to Michelle. “I talked to your principal. You can come with me. You’re a legal adult but I can make sure you’re safe and are looked after—”  


“ _Looked after?_ ” Michelle is generally not outspoken with strangers, but Tony Stark is not her fucking keeper and she feels a great swell of indignation. Peter puts a hand on her arm and she stops before she starts. “Yeah, okay, fine. I only live twenty minutes from here. It beats the subway.”  


It’s Michelle’s first time meeting Tony Stark, and she’s not really impressed. She’s worried about Peter, worried about herself, worried about her classmates, and doesn’t have _time_ to be star struck. She’s about to climb into his car when she remembers the maroon hoodie Peter left on the ground. She runs back and slips it on before getting in. She zips it up to her neck, because she’s not riding with Tony Stark in her underwear.  


(It also used to be Peter’s, so it will have to be pried from her cold, dead fingers.)  


“What? I’m cold.” The combined stares of Tony and Peter greet her. Neither of them seems to pursue that line of questioning, but Tony seems eager for as many details as she remembers about the attack.  


She recites back what she's previously stated, but recalls something she forgot to tell the police. “Um, he might have addressed me by name? It was a familiar voice, but I couldn’t place it. I didn’t think it was important because at first I thought it might have been someone on the Decathlon team, but now I’m not so sure.”  


Peter is giving her a strange look. “It wasn’t anyone on the team. I’m sure of it.”  


“Do you think it was someone that knows you’re Spider-Man?”  


Tony doesn’t react to her acknowledging Peter’s alter ego, but Peter straightens up a bit at her question.  


“Oscorp manufactures weapons similar to the bomb that guy threw,” Peter says carefully after a moment.  


“The same place where you got bitten by the spider?”  


When Peter nods, Michelle loses her shit, because corporate safety records actually mean something to her. She knows she's read an article about it recently. “What the actual fuck is going on over there? They just let radioactive spiders run around biting teenagers and now they have psychos in bad Halloween costumes flying around trying to murder high school boys—”  


“ _MJ_ ,” and wow, Peter’s voice is harsh. She actually flinches because he sounds angry. “I don’t think I was the one he was after.”  


Reflexively, Michelle hand flies to her neck where the man had nearly grabbed her. It was only a fleeting touch. She’d probably be a goner he’d gotten his hands on her for real …  


“…Wait, Oscorp like _Harry Osborn?_ ”  


Peter nods.  


Michelle blinks. “That was Harry Osborn, wasn’t it?”  


Peter nods again.  


“To hell with you, Peter, if you’ve known this for months and wait until he’s blown up half the library to speak up!”  


“We fought once before,” Peter admits. “But it was a long time ago. I honestly thought it was a one off and I didn’t think he knew who I was.”  


“Harry Osborn, another _student_ of all people,” Michelle muses. “Someone else at our school knows you’re Spider-Man and you didn’t _tell anyone_?”  


“I told Ned.”  


Michelle is livid.  


For the first time in front of Peter, she actually qualifies as a person in crisis. And she’s doing it in the back of a car worth more than an ivy-league college education, in front of a visionary billionaire superhero, who’s trying very hard not to appear too enthralled by the drama unfolding in his backseat.  


“I would have loved to have known this about him when we were sharing calculus and physics notes. I would have never offered to tutor him in British literature and I would have been _a thousand times meaner_ when I turned him down for the Winter Formal.”  


“He asked you to Winter Formal?”  


Michelle waves a dismissive hand. “And Homecoming, but please tell me you two hadn’t already battled back then or I’m going to be even more pissed at you for keeping that secret from me for over six months.”  


“He asked you to Homecoming too?”  


Michelle shrugs. “There’s like ten percent more guys at Midtown than girls. Statistically I was bound to get asked.”  


“Was he the only guy that asked you to Winter Formal?”  


“No, I got asked seven other times.”  


“ _Seven_?”  


“Why the tone of disbelief, Peter?”  


“I’m not—”  


Michelle looks up and sees the warning look that Tony is shooting Peter in the rear view mirror. Sitting up a little straighter, she takes in the scenery around her and frowns. She’s not surprised.  


“So we appear to be leaving the city altogether.” Michelle states this calmly and conversationally.  


“If Harry Osborn is after you with a bunch of Oscorp weapons and tech, do you really think you’re going to be safe in Midtown?”  


“…Are you actually kidnapping me right now?”  


“Um, no?”  


“Where are you taking me?”  


“How do you feel about upstate New York?”  


Michelle sighs. “Can I at least swing by my house and pack first?”  


“Nope,” Tony replies jovially. “Make a list and I’ll send an agent over.”  


“I really don’t want strangers in my room pawing through all of my belongings.”  


“How about someone can retrieve your backpack from the school and I’ll have Friday order you anything else you need?”  


It occurs to Michelle that she’s not wearing an actual shirt. “Do you have some clothes I can borrow in the meantime?”  


“Sure, Peter’s got a ton of clothes at the facility. You can just borrow his until yours arrive.”  


Michelle shoots a small smile at Peter, but he’s not paying attention. She follows his gaze out the window and realizes that he’s not really staring at anything in particular, just not her. She studies the bruised knuckles on his right hand on the seat and feels bad for giving him such a hard time.  


_He got hurt protecting me._  


The thought is simultaneously heart-warming and gut-wrenching. She reaches for his hand to give him a comforting pat, but before she can touch him, he yanks it out of reach and puts it on his lap. He’s not even looking; he must have sensed what she was planning.  


Michelle looks at Peter for a long time before she understands he’s not going to look back at her. She shifts in her seat and her eyes meet Tony’s for a long moment. His expression is unreadable. She looks away first.  


A foreign, overwhelming urge to cry nearly overtakes her. Michelle closes her eyes and takes deep breaths until it passes.  


It takes two and a half hours to reach the facility. No one talks. Tony puts on a classic rock playlist that’s a little challenging to tune out, but Michelle has enough on her mind that even AC/DC gets pushed to the background. When she gets out, she’s stunned when Peter bails on her immediately, leaving her alone with Tony. She’s given a brief tour of the common areas and is shown to a massive, if austerely decorated room that she’s informed is right next to Peter’s. He’s thoughtfully left some clothes out on the bed for her, but is nowhere to be found.  


Too drained to change or shower, Michelle curls up on the massive bed to fall asleep all alone in a strange place. She thinks about how Peter is probably in a bed only ten feet away on the other side of the wall.  


Michelle thinks about how Peter could make her feel one hundred percent better just by knocking on her door and seeing how she is.  


Michelle thinks about how Peter isn’t doing that.  


Michelle thinks about how resentful Peter must be for having to involve his mentor to take care of her because she’s nothing but a burden—about how he can’t even look at her because he got hurt trying to protect her. She's another obligation dragging him down; she's worked hard to be independent but can't get her shit together around the person whose opinion matters most to her. Michelle’s overworked brain won’t slow down until the early morning hours, overwhelmed by how being victimized has destroyed her self-esteem.  


Michelle’s last thought before she falls into a fitful sleep is that she’s in love with Peter Parker, and the realization makes less happy than sad.


	2. Seen for What It Was, and Never Eye to Eye

Michelle is wide awake at 5 AM completely against her will and better judgment. She takes a quick shower (which makes every stiff muscle feel great until everything gets unbearably _tight_ when she towels off) and recalls the quickest route to the kitchen. She pads downstairs in Peter’s nerdy striped socks, ratty gym shorts, and a baggy t-shirt. She hopes it’s early enough that no one will be up yet because she’s a pair of slide sandals away from looking like a giant tool.

The espresso machine she winds up staring down easily costs four month’s rent and has more settings and buttons than she knows what to do with. It might be more complicated than instrument panels in a space shuttle. Michelle doesn’t even like coffee, but anything is preferable to lying in bed praying futilely for sleep that will never come, and caffeine offers a wonderful alternative.

“Need a hand?”

 _Holy shit, it’s Captain America_. 

“So when you shot those PSAs for the public school system a couple years back, did you ever see the final product? You probably should have lobbied for more creative control.” 

Not her best opening line for a war criminal, but really, thank God for scorn as a first language. Michelle still has _feelings_ about the Sokovia Accords but it’s hard to remember them when she’s staring at Steve Rogers’ perfectly chiseled jaw line. She tells herself it is solely aesthetic appreciation, because she wants to hate him a little for pulling down a platform down on top of Peter three years ago in Germany.

“You’ve seen my PSAs?”

“All of them, repeatedly, through my entire high school career,” Michelle deadpans. “I’m surprised you made it through the human reproduction videos without an aneurysm. No one has ever made p in the v sound like less fun than a root canal. The mental scarring you projected upon an entire generation of students will cut down teen pregnancy rates by at least thirteen percent. I'm pretty sure the Huffington Post is doing a study." 

“Then I guess it’s a job well done,” Steve says with a wince. "It's a little weird to think that Spider-Man's also seen my PSA on physical fitness."

"And the PSA on detention, more times than you might think," Michelle smirks. 

Steve doesn't smile in return. Michelle wilts a little under the discerning look Steve is leveling at her, and she knows he's not just judging her outfit. She points to the satanic machine she needs to make coffee. “Can you show me how to work this thing? It looks harder than flying a plane.”

“I don’t know how it works, and I’ve actually piloted the Quinjet,” Steve admits. “Sam usually starts it for me when we go running, but he’s currently in Brazil. And Bucky has recently switched to tea, the traitor.”

“I bet this place has the best tea.” Her voice is unabashedly wistful.

“Yeah,” Steve concedes, “If you’re into that. Some of our residents are huge tea snobs.” 

An entire tray of fancy loose leaf tea tins is plunked down on the counter for her and Michelle tries not to squeal. She eyes one hand-labeled “Yerba Mate Blend No. 16” and opens it to inhale a rich aroma mixed with a hint of orange.

“I bet this one tastes _amazing_.”

Steve’s blue eyes dart to the label before he nods. “I don't like tea, but that’s what I hear from Bucky. He won't even touch coffee anymore after drinking that stuff."

"Not a fan of tea?"

Steve pulls a face. "The thought of drinking leaf water is unappealing."

"And bean water is better?"

Steve presses his lips together and Michelle can tell he's trying not to smile. "Let me heat up some water for your leaves.”

Michelle watches with growing horror as Steve fills up a clear Pyrex measuring cup with tap water and _puts it in the microwave_.

“What are you doing?”

“…What I said I was…?” Captain America’s confused face conveys so much hurt it’s massively unfair. He hasn't hit any buttons yet, thank God.

“You can’t nuke water for tea. You have no temperature control. It's not actually supposed to boil, you know—” Michelle immediately stops talking when she realizes she’s ranting again. She has a sudden, horrifying thought: what if she's an embarrassment to Peter?

“Wait, so boiling water is bad for tea? I made it this way for Peggy all the time.”

Michelle makes solemn eye contact with him. Her moment of self-doubt is gone in a flash. “Peggy must have loved you an awful lot to settle for sub-par tea, especially if you’re referring to Peggy _Carter_ , who was English and probably judged you horribly for being an uncivilized Philistine.”

Steve considers this. “Is there a scientific basis for not using boiling water?”

“Yeah, the tannins in black tea are only released by water that’s just below boiling. And the longer water boils, the more dissolved oxygen it loses, which makes for a less-than-ideal final product. Using boiled water for black tea makes it taste bitter and astringent and a giant serving of sugar is pretty much the only thing that can mask it. Using boiled water for green tea will make it taste like poison and you’ll wind up pouring it down the sink because there aren't any additives that can make it come back from that. It took more than a few attempts for that lesson to stick with Peter.”

“Peggy must have really gone easy on me,” Steve says fondly. “I sure hope Peter’s gotten better. No one wants makes to make a bad cup of tea for his girl.”

“Whose girl are you referring to?”

Steve blinks. “I’m sorry, I forget that a lot of people in this time don’t like that label.”

“I’m not Peter’s girlfriend.”

“Partner?” Steve supplies sheepishly.

 _Oh dear Lord, bring me home_. 

“No, we’re just friends.”

“… _Really_?”

Michelle opens her mouth to ask him when he last got his hearing checked, but is interrupted by Tony Stark strolling barefoot into the kitchen sporting bags under his eyes so big they would need to be checked in the overhead compartment. Far from the rich, polished showman she first met, he’s still in the white t-shirt he wore beneath his dress shirt from yesterday. Steve and Tony dance around each other gracefully before the former wordlessly puts away the tins he got out for her and decides to leave, without either coffee or tea.

 _Interesting_.

Despite his disheveled state, Tony operates the espresso machine flawlessly. He seems to have an intrinsic understanding of her caffeine requirements, and brews several helpings for them to share.

“Did you actually sleep last night?” Michelle asks him, in a tone that hopefully isn’t rude. She sips her espresso and winces. It’s _strong_.

“Did _you_ actually sleep last night?” Tony counters, knocking back his espresso shot in one gulp before downing another. He eyes her appearance critically. Her face is banged up and she looks just as wrecked as he does.

“Not really,” Michelle admits.

“Peter’s having a bad reaction to whatever Osborn put in that bomb. Bruce stepped in to stabilize him and we have it all under control.” 

“ _Stabilize him_?”

“He’s not in danger of dying, but his super powers aren’t behaving consistently. Bruce thinks it’s something that will eventually run its course, but he’s looking into a way to safely speed it on its way. It’s tricky with his metabolic rate being so high. Peter doesn’t respond to medication the way a person normally does. Doctor Yinsen helped us run tests on him for a few hours.”

Peter has mentioned Antonia before. (Michelle may have also read articles about Doctor Yinsen a few times—a queer, biracial female scientist with three doctorates capable of reverse engineering the Rescue armor—this is an Avenger Michelle feels good about fangirling.) “You mean Annie? That’s what Peter calls her.”

“Yeah, that works, as long as you don’t call her ‘Toni.’ It's really confusing when people do, so I just stick to Antonia." 

Michelle listens to how he carefully sounds out the syllables, Ann-to-NEE-uh. "I thought you give everyone a nickname."

"I do, but I heard you're a little picky about who you let call you MJ. I'll abstain from taking that liberty because I don't really need another trip to the medical wing. Come to think of it, you should head there yourself. Peter said you didn’t go to the hospital yesterday.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to be done for bumps and bruises. I’m just going to look really shitty for a few days until the swelling goes down. Can I just not go and say I did?”

“Look, I think Peter would feel a lot better if you went for real,” Tony levels with her. His voice is low, stripped of the usual affectation she’s observed in the past. Michelle sees now why Peter is so impressionable with him. He's not physically intimidating, especially because without shoes he's an inch or two shorter. But there’s a very strong pull in his gaze that suddenly makes her feel like an ungrateful brat for wanting to argue. 

“Fine, lead the way.” 

-

Antonia Yinsen turns out to be a salty little firecracker that barely reaches Michelle’s shoulder. Her naturally dark hair is dyed somewhere between a pastel pink and lavender shade and she strolls through the lab in a white tank top and a pair of denim cutoffs that hint at tattoos on her hips and thighs. Out of everyone Michelle’s seen that’s been up all night (herself included), Antonia looks the best by far. Her perkiness is at odds with a stream of sad pop songs filtering in and out of Michelle’s consciousness during the examination. After several instances where Annie winces and commands J.O.C.A.S.T.A. to skip ahead, Michelle realizes she must be listening to a breakup playlist and doesn’t comment, even if Adele is _really_ not her thing.

Answering the barrage of questions about how she’s feeling isn’t too bad, but overall incredibly draining. Growing up with a brother that works in a hospital, Michelle has noticed that many doctors—the good ones— require your complete attention and they don’t accept noncommittal answers. She has truthfully never been attended to by a physician so thoroughly. She feels uncomfortably close to falling asleep, even after the caffeine. 

“Are you still with me, Michelle?”

Michelle waves her hand dismissively. 

“Let me get you something to eat real quick. Are you a tea drinker? You should this new blend I made.”

Sauntering over to a small kitchenette, Antonia pulls out a tea kettle and prepares them a small pot. While her water heats, she pulls out a half cup of blueberries and an individual serving of loose granola. She places the food next to a massively appreciative Michelle, who’s actually kind of touched to be shown some practical kindness without any of the appraising looks she got from Tony or Steve. 

“I essentially live down here, so I break Tony’s cardinal rule of no food prep in the lab,” Antonia chuckles. “Although sometimes I think if Virginia let him put a coffee machine in his work space, he’d never be tempted to leave.”

Right before the water boils—thank God—Antonia swipes the pot off the burner and pours the tea into a giant mug with a picture of a black cat on the side. Michelle recognizes the aroma she smelled in the kitchen. She's staring at the creator of “Yerba Mate Blend No. 16” in the flesh, the siren that lured James Barnes to tea and away from coffee, according to Steve. When it’s cool enough to drink, Michelle finishes the entire mug in two minutes. She’s glad she didn’t let Steve make her a cup earlier; _this_ is what drinking tea is all about.

“Thank you. I skipped dinner last night.”

“Can’t let you die on my watch.”

“So, after an exhaustive medical exam for all of my life-threatening bruises, are you satisfied that I'm going to make it, Doctor Yinsen?”

Antonia rolls her eyes. “Not if you continue to operate at that high level of sass. Patients with relatives that work in the medical field are always a pain.” 

“Anyone that engages with me does so at their own peril, medical professionals included. Sometimes I forget that doctors are people too, sorry.” Michelle gives her the biggest fake smile ever.

“I’m not into solving my problems with lethal force, but I do know a couple of assassins in this building that can take care of business if you don’t dial it back a notch,” Antonia warns with a grin.

“If one of them you’re referring to is James Barnes, I’ll have you know that Peter kicked his ass in Germany. I’m not scared of the Winter Soldier.”

At that, Antonia laughs. “That Peter of yours is really something.”

“Of mine?” Michelle intones blankly.

Humming, Antonia studies the crease between her patient’s eyes and says nothing. Disconcerted by her smile, Michelle asks about Peter’s condition to change the subject. Antonia’s expression instantly changes.

“I’ve never seen anything like Peter’s current predicament before. His senses and reflexes are still sharp as ever, but his physical strength seems to wax and wane. It’s not a timed pattern; I’d honestly say there was a psychosomatic link in there somewhere, which is rare for a pathogen.”

“Psychosomatic?”

“Yes, the more he _needs_ to be stronger, such as when he’s being stressed, the weaker he gets. Bruce and Tony spent a few hours testing out that theory so we could get to the bottom of it. Tony really cares about Peter, I hope you know. He stayed up all night with us even though he's got an early flight to California in a few hours.”

Michelle gets the impression that the scientist might share a love-hate relationship with Stark based on his history with her father, but they seem to work together well. She doesn’t seem to mind taking occasional direction from him even though she’s on semi-permanent loan from the rebranded A.I.M. and Tony’s technically not her boss. 

“Where is Peter now?”

“He’s resting. He requested quarters closer to the lab until this clears up in case it escalates, so please stop by my neck of the woods if you’re feeling lonesome. The section of the building you’re staying in is pretty empty at the moment. A lot of Avengers are frequently off-site.”

“I don’t think Peter wants to see me,” Michelle says after a moment of contemplation. 

“He mentioned his concern for you all throughout the night,” Antonia informs her. “He’ll be glad to know you finally showed up.”

“Tony said that too. I was right, though. I’m fine.”

“I mean, physically, yeah. But you _were_ just attacked by a nutjob, so if you want to talk to someone about it, I’m not that kind of doctor, but we do have someone in-house if you require a professional.”

“I—wow, that’s kind of neat it’s not so stigmatized,” Michelle admits, twisting the empty mug in her hands.

“Stark is big into mental health. A few years back he brought someone in special just for James, but it turns out she was able to help a few others along the way. Tony keeps her on permanently now, which suits her just fine. I’m sure the papers she'll publish on everyone’s various disorders will make her even wealthier than Stark someday.”

“Um, has Peter talked to her by any chance?”

Antonia has a gleam in her eye. “I’m only cleared to discuss his current treatment with me.”

“The treatment where he’s kind of okay but definitely hurt and maybe he’ll get better because you guys are working on it but also maybe not because it sounds like you guys don't have a solution yet,” Michelle intones.

“Motherfucking assassins, Michelle, _Jesus,_ ” Antonia grumbles. “Look, I know I’m only thirty two, but I’ve had my three doctorates for ten years and I know what I’m doing. So do Tony and Bruce, and they’re old as fuck. We're not going to give up until we get Peter all fixed up. _We got this._ ” 

Michelle meets her eyes, and it’s Antonia not backing down. “Yeah, okay.” 

“You also have to trust Peter,” Antonia says gently, taking the empty mug away from Michelle's hands. “The guy’s been super-powered for the past three and a half years. Now his powers are temporarily unreliable. It’s scary, I’d imagine. Do him a favor by taking care of yourself so he doesn’t worry.”

“I’m really okay, all things considered. No broken bones, no head injuries, no stitches.”

“Well you still look terrible, so take two of these pills every six hours for the pain and swelling,” Antonia commands, placing a bottle in front of her and shaking it for effect. “You might also look a little better if you have clothes that fit. Do you mind if I drop some stuff off for you later? I’m sure Tony’s already had F.R.I.D.A.Y. order you some things, but they might take a few days to get here. If you need underwear or something earlier than that, I can just order site-to-store somewhere and send James out and tell him they’re for me or something if you’re embarrassed.”

“You have a literal assassin at your beck and call.”

“He’s a _former_ assassin. And it’s one of the perks of fitting someone with a badass metal arm—undying loyalty. I love my job.”

Outsourcing a prosthetic like that for the man that killed his mother is totally a Stark move—he could have easily handled it in-house—if he wanted to. Michelle’s seen the leaked video of the Stark murders on CNN. That Tony continues to do so much for James is weirdly amazing. She thinks of how Tony and Steve avoided each other in the kitchen upstairs. She has questions, like always, but she knows a few weeks (if it comes to that) at the Avengers compound will probably provide her with plenty of answers.

“I will actually take you up on the underwear offer. Please don't order me anything with dumb sayings on them. Preferably plain black cotton bikini-cut but any solid color is fine except white. White underwear is weird.”

Antonia cackles. “Agreed.” 

After a moment of hesitation, Michelle looks at Antonia a little apprehensively. “Annie, can you do me another favor?”

“After living here on and off with superheroes for a few years, I’m going to have to let you know after I hear what you want first.”

“Can you show me where Peter’s new room is?” 

-

Peter doesn’t answer when she knocks. 

It seems dumb to text him when he’s on the other side of the door she’s standing in front of, but Michelle does anyway. When he doesn’t reply, she figures he’s asleep, but—

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” 

“Yes, Miss Jones?”

“Are you able to tell me if Peter is asleep?”

“His vitals indicate he’s in the middle of a R.E.M. sleep cycle. Did you need me to wake him? I can do so in case of an emergency.”

“No thanks.”

Michelle stands there for a moment longer, trying not to think how creepy an omniscient A.I. is while also being able to give her peace of mind. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., are there any books here at the compound?"

"Boss has over one million e-books available on file unless you were looking for access to an academic database, in which case several hundred thousand academic journals and articles are available for you to peruse."

"Um, nothing quite that involved...Can you tell me if there’s a library of actual books here, like the ones printed on paper and stored on shelves, or does Stark just keep everything digitally?”

“Boss prefers digital copies of everything but Miss Potts keeps a small selection of reading material in a study on the fourth floor.”

“Is it publicly accessible? I don’t want to intrude.”

“Access can be granted remotely by verbal confirmation. Would you like me to call Miss Potts?”

“No!” 

Michelle is not going to bother the CEO of one of Stark Industries just because she’s bored. Upon discovering that her backpack has been returned (and remembering the only books inside are ones she’s already read), she’s not really sure how to proceed.

“Most of the residents have books,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. suggests almost shyly. “I can recite the titles for you.”

“No thanks, that’s a little invasive, I’ll just ask them,” Michelle assures the A.I. before mentally adding, _Maybe_.

Heading back to her room, Michelle makes sure the door is closed and locked before she tries a new line of questioning. Something had been nudging at the back of her mind for over two hours.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., I encountered Steve Rogers this morning. He never met me before yet seemed to know who I was. Did Tony tell him about me staying here?”

“Negative.” 

_Steve didn’t seem surprised to see me here at the facility. He recognized me as being acquainted with Peter even though I never introduced myself_. 

Michelle doesn’t think Peter has much time to socialize with his teammates, and _even_ if he mentioned her, there’s no reason for anyone like Captain America to _remember_.

It’s 7 AM and Michelle reasons that everyone will probably be awake by now, but she's exhausted after her exam and a restless night. With a belly full of tea and a mind full of Peter Parker, Michelle finds sleep much easier than before. She doesn't normally remember her dreams, but they're especially vivid this time:

Michelle dreams of Kevin Jones sitting down for dinner and realizing his sister is upstate and that he doesn't know how to cook.

Michelle dreams of her mother's soft voice—a sound she can never remember when she's awake—telling her that it's okay to be scared sometimes, because even though her baby's strong, she's not invincible. 

(This is the dream she clings to the hardest, because her life does not often provide her with sources of comfort and sometimes, like this dream, they're imagined.)

Michelle dreams of pushing Harry Osborn into a water fountain after he repeatedly asks her to Prom, which hasn't actually happened yet but before he turned into a lunatic it seemed pretty likely.

Michelle dreams of tipping over the edge of a high-rise, falling helplessly and staring up at Spider-Man, whose web is too late to save her from a broken neck. 

The last dream succeeds in jolting her awake.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Antonia Yinsen is a canon Marvel character; there are several versions of her. I picked the one I nicknamed "Annie" because in MCU, she shares the same last name as the Doctor Yinsen Tony met before becoming Iron Man.


	3. Knocking Me Down with the Palm of Your Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have removed a comment that Michelle makes to James about Doctor Yinsen. I did not mean to offend anyone and I am very sorry for the hurt it has caused.

-

An inquiry to F.R.I.D.A.Y. informs Michelle that it’s 5:19 PM when she awakes. 

_Jesus, I really fucked up my sleep schedule_.

Hunger pangs too intense to ignore, Michelle contemplates visiting the commissary that Stark showed her before remembering she doesn’t have any fucking money. To keep her off-grid, Michelle’s credit card has been cancelled. She finds this out via email upon waking instead of Stark mentioning it to her earlier, but it makes her question something else.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., why hasn’t Tony confiscated my cell phone? Isn’t it able to be tracked?”

_Harry might be a douche, but he’s smart and has a lot of resources. That would be a hell of an oversight_.

“Boss and Peter Parker have taken previous measures to ensure that your cell phone is untraceable by commonly available means. Only members of the Avengers can track it.”

_Members of the Avengers_ Michelle mouths. “When the hell did that start?”

“Approximately twenty three months ago. The cell phone you were mailed for your upgrade contained the technology required to shield you from being tracked by local or federal law enforcement.”

_That was right after Gwen died…It explains why I had so much trouble at the Verizon store_.

“If my credit card has been cancelled, how am I supposed to pay for things? I have to take care of a few bills online for my brother or his electricity and internet will be shut off.”

“An account has been opened on your behalf by Mr. Stark last night. Funds have been deposited for you and you will receive your plastic card tomorrow morning by 9 AM.” 

“ _Funds_ , huh.”

“Yes, some discretionary income has been placed in the account. If thirty thousand dollars is not enough, I am authorized to deposit up to seventy five thousand dollars at your request.”

“What? No! _Christ_.”

Michelle has never been _managed_ like this. Due to her brother’s work schedule she’s barely seen him since she was eleven, even though Kevin’s her legal guardian. She’s never been _given_ much of anything, not even a curfew. She stocks the apartment with groceries, does all the laundry, makes sure the bills are paid, and even files her brother’s taxes.¬ It’s very strange having things done for her (even temporarily) and being freed from her typical responsibilities makes her realize how much time they take up.

_Why do I get thirty thousand dollars? Peter’s still wearing the same ratty shoes from sophomore year._

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., is Peter awake?”

“Yes. He is currently under observation in medical with Doctor Banner.”

_Hard nope on visiting him, then_.

“And Annie?”

“Doctor Yinsen is installing a few protocol parameters in preparation for training in Gymnasium C.” 

“Training? She’s mostly a scientist, though, right?”

“Due to the significantly higher mass of her new Iron Patriot suit, Doctor Yinsen must train daily to achieve the physical strength required to operate the armor even with the aid of hydraulics.”

_Interesting_.

“And Steve Rogers?”

“Steve Rogers is training in Gymnasium A with Wanda Maximoff.”

“Tony Stark’s flight left earlier today, right?”

“Boss is in Malibu reviewing Stark Industries first quarter earnings with Miss Potts.”

Realizing that spying on her neighbors via A.I. makes her a giant creep, Michelle opens her door and nearly trips over a canvas shopping bag that someone must have left there. At first she thinks it’s the clothes Annie mentioned, and leans over to swipe the handles with one hand. She nearly falls on her face when she realizes it’s _heavy_. 

With some grunting, she manages to drag the bag back inside her room, the act making all of her sore muscles ache. Inside are all the books she’s lent Peter over the past two years. The fact that they’re here means Peter must have been keeping them at the Avenger’s facility instead of at his home in Queens, like she originally thought. Michelle picks up _Things Fall Apart_ and frowns at the dog-eared pages. 

_“What have I told you about doing this to my books, Parker?”_

A long time ago, Michelle recalls asking this question of Peter, only to get a shrug in return. He continued to deliberately dog-ear every single page of the novel in his hands just to fuck with her until she launched herself at him and wrestled the book away. 

_He must have dropped them off while I was asleep. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll be bored. Too bad I’ve just been sleeping for the past ten hours..._

Michelle goes through the entire stack and smoothes out all the pages he’s damaged. To her surprise, it looks like he’s read his way through most of them and she’s mildly impressed he had the time and willpower to do so, considering how abysmally he performs in their British literature class. There’s only one book missing, but before Michelle can think on it further, she hears a soft chime informing her someone is at her door requesting permission to enter.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Who is it?”

“James Barnes.”

_Holy shit, it’s the Winter Soldier_.

James Barnes looms menacingly in her doorway, metal arm gleaming in the fluorescent lights. The delicately articulated fingers are wrapped around the handles of an _enormous_ duffel bag. He places it on the ground between them, perhaps sensing she’s not strong enough to hold it aloft with one hand like he can.

“You done staring?”

Michelle feels uncharacteristic embarrassment. “Doctor Yinsen did amazing work. Can I look at it?”

It’s clear that he’s clearly not expecting that—James actually turns it over for her so she can see how seamlessly the plates fit together.

“They don’t get caught on things, the plates?”

“No. Even better, the arm’s capable of relaying more than just pain and pressure to my nervous system now. I can even register hot and cold temperatures with it and feel the texture of the leather when I wear a glove. It’s never going to be _mine_ , but I couldn’t ask for anything better.”

“Besides the A.I., it’s the only other technology in this place that’s really impressed me. I guess because it seems so thoughtful and personal.”

James nods, and Michelle can't help but smile a little at the hushed tone of his voice. “It's been serviced a lot throughout the years. I never thought I'd have someone working on it who cared if it was causing me pain or not.”

“It seems almost blasphemous to say what I did since Tony had this place built and pretty much makes all this possible.” 

“Just don’t tell Stark she’s your favorite engineer. He might feel threatened. Antonia did manage to reverse-engineer Rescue and Iron Patriot Armor.”

“Think she’s aiming to make Iron Maiden next?”

“Nah, the Iron Patriot armor’s her bread and butter right now.”

Michelle pauses. “The suit seems almost cumbersome compared to the pictures I’ve seen of the Rescue armor. I don’t see how she maneuvers in it.”

“According to Tony, every set of armor requires a slightly different move set to work at peak efficiency. He’s too busy to train Antonia consistently, so I offered. It’s a walk in the park compared to getting mobbed by Hydra agents.”

“How are you able to train her if you don’t have a suit of armor too?”

“I’ll work with her out of the suit. It’s more about fighting technique than you might think. Any training Antonia got previously was tailored to her build—small and light. She was taught to evade and parry and she won’t have that freedom of movement in the Patriot armor. She’ll wind up tripping over her own feet. She’s got to learn to stand her ground in a fight because her suit can take the hits for her.”

Michelle would have never thought of any of that. She wonders how often Peter gets to talk shop with Antonia and train with the Winter Soldier. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable for checking out the arm. Antonia’s just so cool and I didn't get a chance to look at anything else she did when I met her this morning.”

James actually wears what for him might pass for a smile. “She’s pretty swell. I, uh, brought you the things she said she’d get for you.”

Michelle bends down and shyly opens the bag. The first thing she sees is not what she’s expecting.

“Um, why would she give me these?” Michelle asks, pulling out a pair of sky-high black heels. It’s an honest question.

James shrugs. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

His tone of forced casualness piques her interest. “Do you resent being used as an errand boy? I feel like you have better things to be doing, like maybe helping her with all that training you just talked about.”

“I could have said no when she asked me to,” James reasons broadly. 

“And yet here you are.”

“Here I am. You need anything else?”

“Um,” Michelle stalls, dragging the bag to the bed and dumping everything out. The first thing she notices are two clear plastic multipacks of plain bikini panties—the packaging that her classmates mock as frumpy—and she’s so relieved that she can change her underwear. The duffel bag is bursting with tank tops and shorts. 

“Doesn’t she wear long sleeve shirts or trousers?”

“Antonia’s only 5’3, so she figured anything where sleeve length and inseams might matter would be way too short on you.”

Michelle huffs. “That’s fair.”

“You’ll have to wait for whatever Stark had ordered for you if your arms and legs get cold, I guess.”

(Michelle’s never been in a building with a more comfortable and regulated temperature. If Tony wasn’t such a big supporter of clean energy, she’d probably be having a low-key meltdown over his carbon footprint.) 

“What, no blankets in the compound?” 

“Pretty sure Antonia put one in there for you.” 

Michelle manages to pull a fleece throw out from underneath a giant pile of Adventure Time-themed socks. The blanket has the same cartoon black cat that her mug did. It’s from a Japanese film she caught at a special showing with Cindy Moon once, but she can’t remember the name of it. She meets James’ eyes and he looks almost embarrassed.

“She’s really crazy about cats.”

“Does she have any?”

“Yes, one; she just found him outside last week, the little scamp. He’s satanic and spoiled and he's practically her child already and I’m sure his hairs are all over those clothes even though she washed them. If you’re allergic you’re in for a world of hurt.”

“No,” Michelle replies absently, wondering if Antonia will let her meet her cat. She hasn’t been around one since her own cat, Elinor, died when she was twelve. Kevin’s the only person on earth that might have any inkling that she likes them.

Michelle continues to sort through the clothes, absently realizing that she’s going to have to refold everything. The sports bras she pulls out are new, as are a pair of flats and lace-up boots. There are two long tunics that would reach her mid-thigh and even a cocktail dress.

“She must have bought half the store.”

“I didn’t pick up anything but the underwear. She’s always cooped up in her lab and doesn’t go out on the field much yet. She doesn’t wear much else besides the type of clothing you’ve already seen her in. For all the shit she buys she doesn’t need to change her wardrobe much.” 

“I always thought Avengers got to jet-set all over the globe,” Michelle admits.

“Sometimes,” James concedes, “Antonia’s actually very well-traveled due to her work. But more than anything, what we do makes it impossible to have normal lives or relationships.”

“I didn’t want to ask and possibly upset her, but is Annie okay? She seemed really preoccupied this morning in the lab. She was playing a lot of really sad music.”

“Antonia split with her ex-girlfriend a few months back. It’s probably good you didn’t mention it. Half the stuff she gave you is stuff she bought when they were together. She says you can keep everything, by the way.”

“That’s _really_ nice of her,” Michelle states sincerely.

“Antonia’s a really nice woman,” James agrees evenly. 

“Steve mentioned that you’re drinking more tea lately. Her orange yerba mate blend is awesome.”

“It sure is.”

Michelle gives James a challenging look. 

James attempts to glare but looks away and sighs. “Stop with the face, I ain’t got nothin’ else to say.”

“Can you please tell Annie thank you for me?”

“I think it’d mean more coming from you.” 

“I’ll thank her in person, I just think you’ll see her before I will, is all,” Michelle’s delivery is casual but she smiles in spite of his glare. “…Like in a few minutes at the gym, maybe.”

“Kid—” James stops talking immediately when he gets what she’s implying. “It ain’t like that between us. We work together.”

Michelle continues to smirk, and she really wishes she had her sketchbook, because the Winter Soldier looks like a man having a bona fide crisis.

“You should see your face right now," Michelle can't resist adding. 

James fixes her with the same intense look that Steve did in the kitchen, like he’s trying to see deep into her soul. Half a dozen emotions flicker across his face (anger, irritation, confusion, admiration, amusement, understanding) before James shakes his head and mutters, “I suddenly get what you two see in each other. You’re both little shits.”

Michelle flies off her bed. “See what in each other? Me and _who_?”

“You and your boyfriend,” James replies, pausing in her doorway. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Uh huh,” James looks at her like she’s a fucking liar.

“I don’t!” Michelle follows him out of her room, nearly tripping over the duffel bag.

James glances down the hall and laughs in Michelle’s face when he sees Peter Parker walking towards them. “Speak of the devil.”

It’s the first time Michelle’s laid eyes on him since getting here. His expression is so singularly _Peter_ , sweet and boyish and a little shy. She wants to stand there and look at him at her leisure, but James make sure retribution is swift. He calls down the hall after him, hand cupped around his mouth so his voice is unnaturally loud.

“Hey Peter, this woman of yours sure is a handful.” James points to where Michelle stands frozen in place in her doorway.

"What the hell's the matter with you!" Michelle hisses at him, giving him a hard shove that doesn't make him budge.

"You sure know how to pick ‘em, Peter," James turns to give Michelle a huge shit-eating grin that Peter can’t see. 

Peter’s eyebrows disappear under his disheveled hair and he seems too stunned by the sight of James and Michelle arguing in the hallway to respond. 

"Girl, you weigh a one-thirty tops. You don't stand a chance." James starts to whistle as he walks away, that asshole. 

Michelle yells after him, “Have fun in Gymnasium C!”

Bucky holds up the middle finger for her with his metal arm before he disappears around the corner but she gets the impression he’s not actually upset.

When they’re finally alone, Peter’s voice is more curious than accusing. “Um, what did you say to him?” 

“Upon further introspection, pretty much everything I possibly could have,” Michelle says honestly. 

“ _MJ_ ,” Peter groans. 

“Am I blighting your sterling reputation?”

“What? No, never,” Peter looks mildly distressed at her suggestion.

“Hey, can we—” Michelle motions back to her room, hoping Peter will get the hint and head back inside.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees hastily. “I actually came by to bring you something to eat.”

With an utter disregard for dignity, Michelle seizes the protein bar from his hand, opens it up, and shovels it in her mouth. It’s gone in twenty four seconds. Far from looking disgusted, Peter rocks back on his heels to study the uncivilized picture she makes as her tongue whisks over the pads of her fingers for any lingering traces of food. 

“Hungry, MJ?” The plastic bottle he offers her is similarly parted from him by a violent yank. 

“I’ve barely eaten since I got here.” Michelle barely manages to say this as she chugs water at an alarming rate.

Peter frowns, “Tony showed you where the commissary is, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t have any money to buy food there yet. I visited the common kitchen already.”

“Did you get anything to eat?”

“It was too early in the morning for food. I found out that Steve Rogers can’t operate an espresso machine and also that he makes shitty tea.”

“You didn’t actually tell him that, did you?”

“Well if I was bad at something, I’d like to be corrected so I didn’t continue to embarrass myself.”

“That’s a yes, then,” Peter surmises wryly. He doesn’t look mad in the least. Realizing her door is hanging wide open (and that anyone passing by will understandably get the impression she was raised by wolves), Michelle meekly closes it to afford them more privacy. 

The effect is immediate; it’s just the two of them and a sense of familiarity comes back to her. Michelle realizes the bed is still full of Antonia’s clothes. In a sweeping motion, she pushes everything off and back into the bag, missing a pink tank top and a pair of tall polka dot socks.

“Did you get the books I left for you?” Peter asks before scattering the socks onto the floor. He perches on the edge of her bed before tipping backwards with abandon. Michelle does the same, and it’s not too unlike the dozens of other times they’ve sprawled out together. In a moment of déjà vu, she realizes his right hand is inches away from her left. The split skin of his knuckles has closed to shiny puckered scars that will no doubt be gone by the morning. She wonders if he’d let her hold his hand this time before the urge passes.

“Yes, I got the books, and the timing was perfect. I don’t like e-books so it’ll be nice to hold some real ones.”

“I stopped by earlier but you were asleep.”

“The same thing happened to me this morning with you,” Michelle confesses. “I tried to find you after I met Annie. I really like her.”

Peter chuckles. “You’re her type, you know—tall, slim, with long, curly hair.”

Michelle rolls her eyes and nudges him gently, careful not to hurt him. 

“There wouldn’t be a chance that she was bi, would there?”

“I dunno,” Peter shrugs. “She was dating a girl until recently. I’m not sure about anyone before that, male or female.”

“Well, there can’t be an abundance of lesbian superheroes for her to choose from, and she’s nice enough I’d like to see her find someone and be happy. There doesn't seem like a whole lot of that on the Avengers.”

Peter gives her a weird look. “Are you just saying that because you’re starting to realize all the other Avengers are cooler than me and you want to get a best friend upgrade? I've never seen you this enthused about a superhero.”

“No, loser, I'm not trying to ditch you,” she admonishes him. “It’s just that Annie’s the first Avenger I really got know a little besides you. The part of me that’s passionate about investigative journalism wanted to grill her about her stance on various international policies and get her life story, but I found myself talking to her like a regular person. She’s so normal, except she doesn’t seem to have a good work/life balance.” 

“Well, Annie doesn’t have any living relatives, so this place is really all she has in a lot of ways.”

“Yeah, I read that her family is gone,” Michelle says glumly. She shifts on the bed a little to face him and he mirrors her actions, his right side pressed to the mattress. It’s a relief to see that Peter can meet her eyes today. “I guess I never thought about how hard it must be for you to still be friends with me and Ned. I can see how this stuff would keep you busy and suck you in.”

“You’re the only person who’s never given me a hard time about what I do, I mean _for real_ ,” Peter admits. “You gave me shit for being a flake before you knew for sure that I was Spider-Man, but you never made me feel guilty for all the times I had to bail on you after you found out. I always feel like I’m disappointing May and Ned for doing this because it makes me unreliable, but never you.”

“I know how much being Spider-Man means to you. I got freaked out yesterday when you said you felt sick. The fact you didn’t seem concerned at first kind of pissed me off. If you ever die from something you’re too lazy or too proud to get diagnosed, I’m going to vandalize your grave and spray paint _Penis Parker_ over the whole damn thing, I swear.”

“Jesus, Michelle,” Peter says with a dry laugh. “Bruce says it might go away on its own, but I’m not so sure. I have a whole new round of tests tomorrow.”

Michelle wrinkles her nose. “Gross.”

Peter nods in agreement. “The grossest.” 

“Don’t say that word ever again; it sounds weird when you say it.”

Peter laughs. “Grossest, grossest, grossest.”

Michelle moves to swat at him, but Peter catches her hand. She tugs and is mildly surprised when he doesn’t immediately let go.

“Give that back.”

“No, I don’t think I want to just yet,” Peter says playfully. His eyes trace the shape of every one of her fingers and suddenly Michelle’s heart pounds so fast she wonders if his heightened senses can hear it. 

“You’re a weirdo,” Michelle scolds him, voice completely devoid of condemnation.

“Coming from someone who doesn’t really like Star Wars, I consider your opinion to be invalid.”

“Star Trek is better.”

“ _MJ_ ,” Peter groans, giving her hand a final squeeze. He releases it and it rests lightly on his chest. “I’ve heard you complain at length about Captain Kirk and his shortcomings.”

“It’s still a good show, especially for its time. Mom almost named me Nichelle after the actress that played Uhura, but thought that overtly naming me after a famous person would put a lot of social pressure on me. She picked something really close, though.”

Peter’s eyes crinkle as he considers that. “That’s actually really cool, MJ.”

“So I still like the show, even if Captain Kirk is swaggering, overbearing, tin-plated dictator with delusions of godhood. Kathryn Janeway is the best captain, though.”

“Um, everyone knows that Picard is the best captain. The internet can back me up. It's a fact.”

Peter must surely be doing this on purpose. It’s a familiar argument they’re fond of replaying just because their reactions are comfortably predictable; Michelle does the same thing when she complains that the visual effects in the original Star Wars trilogy are bad. They nudge each other as they bicker, Peter periodically flicking strands of her hair away from his face when they encroach. They giggle like idiots and Michelle hopes she’s not looking at him as fondly as she feels. Affection practically seeps from her pores. 

Eyes at half mast, it’s easy to pretend that he’s already spent the night and they’re waking up together. His eyelashes are unbelievably long. Michelle feels a surge of longing, wanting so much to run her fingers through his hair as she kisses him. She’s only been awake for less than an hour, but being in his presence is so relaxing she feels the pull of sleep again. Before nodding off, she thinks about how much nicer it is to try and fall asleep with him beside her. She thankfully doesn’t dream.


	4. My Beloved Was Weighed Down

-  
“Wakey, wakey!”

Tony Stark is standing at the foot of Michelle's bed. The amount of natural light is blinding and he’s wearing god-awful tinted sunglasses indoors like only douche bags do. 

Michelle manages to compose herself before screaming bloody murder, which she thinks is pretty great, and settles for the first thought that comes to mind. “You had a flight to California yesterday. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I rushed from Pepper’s side—Pepper who graciously agreed to cover for me at this morning’s budget meeting with the Stark Industries Board—because it seems Peter took a turn for the worst last night.”

 _Shit, that’s right, I fell asleep next to Peter_. 

Michelle recalls waking up in the middle of the night to pee, and then changing out of her bra and into a light pink tank top and a pair of Antonia’s black shorts because Peter is a furnace. When she fell back asleep, Peter was right beside her.

“When was this?”

“Before 6 AM this morning; I rushed back as soon as I heard. It’s almost eleven. Maybe next time you can hold the slumber party in his room—it’s a lot closer to the med bay.”

_He must have flown all the way back in his armor if he made it back that quickly._

“I—I didn’t realize anything had even happened.”

Realizing he sounded harsh, Tony sighs. “It’s not your fault, Michelle. Peter didn’t want to worry you and ran down to medical while you were asleep. Luckily he made it most of the way there.”

“ _Luckily_?”

“He’s fine.”

“You implied he was fine yesterday.”

“Fine is relative, I guess. Still technically not close to death.”

“Can I see him?”

“Actually, yes, that’s why I’m here. They want to run a few tests on you— _they_ being Antonia and Bruce.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Tony blinks. “No inquisition or protest? That’s rare.”

 _Wow_. Michelle reflects on bite of his statement, but it’s true. She never makes a damned thing easy.

“You wouldn’t ask me to volunteer for tests unless you absolutely had to. I want to help Peter.”

“Well alright.” He gives her another one of his unreadable looks. “Did you need to freshen up or anything?”

Michelle is surprised by the question before noticing that Tony Stark is back to his normal veneer of magnificence. She refuses to flinch under his gaze. She can tell how worried he is about Peter. She crosses her arms and shakes her head no, pulling on the flats Antonia gave her. Peter’s definitely seen her look worse.

Tony winces as he scrolls through his phone. “Why don’t you head down awhile? I have a few calls to make and I’ll swing by.”

Michelle nods numbly, hoping that Peter is okay. She grabs her backpack and practically runs downstairs.

-

In retrospect Michelle thinks maybe she should have at least put on a bra. The lab is _frigid_. She’s acutely aware of her nipples getting hard and there’s only so many ways to discretely angle her body away from someone before they realize what the problem is. 

Peter briefly glances down by accident but to his credit says nothing to embarrass her. He’s shirtless and appears to be having the same problem, she notes, not that the discovery is interesting. (She’s certainly not using her above average peripheral vision to ogle him or anything.) Peter’s gaze stays on her face when he deigns to look her way at all; he seems torn between irritation and shame, and it’s not making him especially pleasant to be around. Michelle’s not sure if she’s supporting him or making him feel worse. She just wants to help.

 _This running hot and cold bullshit is getting old. At least I’m not the only one that had a shitty night_.

It turns out James Barnes was right—Antonia is very appreciative to receive Michelle's gratitude in person. Or she might appear more gratified if not for the ice pack shoved against her orbital bone. She’s sporting a black eye that looks worse than Peter’s did from his fight with Harry and she’s wearing long sleeves and trousers. Michelle wonders how many more bumps and bruises she picked up fighting against James. Her hair is pulled off her face and shoved under a bandana. 

Doctor Banner is holding a tablet and gesturing at it while going over some test results with Antonia. Bruce is nice—much more reserved than Antonia but very polite. He’s been awake in the past two days longer than he’d like but seems far from the angry person he half-jokingly describes himself as. He drinks a very bland variety of green tea that Michelle supposes is relaxing. He doesn’t seem interested in scrutinizing the nature of her and Peter’s relationship the way Steve and James did, which makes her thankful. She already feels like a freak show, hooked up to more machines than she’d ever permit under normal circumstances.

Michelle spends twenty minutes watching Peter get subjected to mild electrocution to record his response to stress and pain. Luckily she’s avoided the same fate, but they’re observing her vitals anyway because it turns out she also got dosed with the same compound used on Peter. Michelle insists she feels fine, struggling with the knowledge that the same vile concoction that’s hurting him hasn’t done _anything_ to her. 

Peter’s going through so much that she feels rude if she ignores what’s happening right in front of her, so she doesn’t avert her eyes, not even when he hisses in pain after receiving a very painful jolt of electricity. The negative reactions that Antonia and Bruce record don’t seem to be too bad overall, but he’d be useless in a fight while he spent a good ten to twenty seconds recovering from each hit he took.

Peter looks completely wrecked as he rubs the arm that just received the current. He glances up and notices her expression of open distress. “Are you alright, MJ?” 

“I think I should be asking you that question.”

Peter doesn’t say anything, just glances off to the side despite the fact her tone is not accusatory. Michelle thought he would be on death’s door from Tony’s description, but he seems pretty okay to her. Okay enough to ignore her when he feels like it. The thought is immature and ungrateful but Michelle feels like she’s in the middle of a mad scientist’s experiment—and she kind of is—because she’s got electrodes hooked up to her temples and chest. She can see her EKG flash across three holographic panels scattered throughout the lab. She’s been watching it speed up every time Peter suffers. 

Everything _sucks_. Michelle’s not sure how much she can take when she hears footsteps echo around the corner. 

Tony Stark materializes and he makes his entrance more memorable by nearly dropping his coffee when he sees Antonia. “Holy shit, what the fuck happened to your face?”

Bruce actually facepalms at Tony’s lack of tact, but Antonia seems unfazed. “It’s just a training mishap.”

“Jesus, did Barnes punch you in the head with his metal hand?”

“James would kill me if he punched me in the head with his metal hand. It was the flesh and blood one,” Antonia informs him cheerfully. 

“ _Fucking hell_. Do you have a concussion? You look like you could totally have a concussion. Should you even be working right now?”

“I’m fine, Tony. It’s not a big deal. We do have some really interesting news we’d like to share.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Remember the rigorous examination you had me perform yesterday on Michelle? The one where I took her blood and measured every conceivable vital and generally confused the living shit out of her given the fact you wanted me to keep a secret from her as to why she was _actually_ there because you didn’t want to scare her by suggesting she shared the same weakened condition as Peter?”

“Yes, that one,” Tony says unapologetically when Peter and Michelle both glare at him.

“You said _Peter_ wanted me to get checked out,” Michelle accuses.

“I didn’t lie about that part. I just omitted the part where I did too.”

Michelle wants to be mad, but Tony Stark is kind of clever and she can appreciate that. She sighs, the puff of air blowing a few strands of her curly hair away from her face.

Tony can tell she’s displeased and is clearly amused by this information. “So did you find anything, Doc?”

“She did receive a small dose of what Peter got, yes,” Antonia admits.

“I knew it!”

“The compounds in the pathogen are meant only to interfere with Peter’s mutation,” Bruce interjects. “It doesn’t affect Michelle negatively at all that we can tell.”

“Then why are they _both_ hooked up all this stuff?”

Antonia lets out a long-suffering sigh. “She’s been here less than half an hour, hardly enough time to know one hundred percent. We can’t run the same kinds of tests on her that we are on Peter. For heaven’s sake, she’s a civilian, not an Avenger. Peter is pretty adamant that we not physically harm her in any way during our testing and I agree with him.”

Michelle’s head swivels slowly over to Peter. “Hey, I am capable of making my own decisions. If it’ll help us figure things out faster, I can handle a couple electric shocks.”

Peter stalks towards her. “I’m the only one being affected, so I’m the only one that needs to undergo tests. You don’t need to get hurt, MJ.”

“How sweet,” Tony deadpans, cutting off the impending argument by standing between them. “So did any of her vitals actually change the way his did?”

“No,” Bruce answers. “The compound appears completely inert in her bloodstream.”

“Can she take all this shit off, then?” Tony gestures to the mass of wires and electrodes she’s hooked up to. Michelle can tell he’s edgy about something.

Bruce sighs. “Yeah, I guess that’s okay.”

Antonia helps remove the electrodes and kindly places a sweater over her bare shoulders. Michelle gives her a watery smile in thanks. She sees Peter look at her almost guiltily so she reaches out and gives his hand a pat. To her surprise, he links his fingers with hers.

Tony stares hard at their intertwined hands before dragging his gaze upwards to study one of the readouts. “Have Peter’s vitals changed today since she’s arrived in the lab with him?”

“The knowledge that his powers aren’t reliable in general has caused his baseline reading to jump. His cortisol levels and blood pressure are elevated but instead of causing a surge of adrenaline to make him faster or stronger as they normally would, he gets slower and weaker.”

“We found out all this eighteen hours ago,” Tony snaps. “What else can you tell me?”

Antonia and Bruce exchange a look before eying Tony carefully. 

“There’s a limit to how much information we can glean because Peter knows we’re not going to actually harm him in the lab. Over time, he grows accustomed to the negative stimuli and controls his reaction, overcoming the dampening effects of the pathogen.” Bruce’s voice is quiet.

“He can power through it? That’s good news.”

“Not especially,” Antonia contradicts.

“Oh?”

“We’re running tests in a controlled environment,” Antonia reminds Tony. “If Peter went out in the field, we have no idea what he’d be up against. If he was in a genuinely life-threatening scenario, I think the resulting flood of hormones would succeed in triggering a lethal reaction. It’s conceivable that enough fear or stress could kill him by making him go into cardiac arrest. While it’s still intact, I’m not convinced his healing factor could bring him back from that.”

“We’ve pushed his limits as far as we feel comfortable,” Bruce states. “We went up to two hundred fifty mA, enough to show there was a correspondence between the intensity of the pain and the severity and duration of his symptoms. While recovering from the pain he could barely move. He could normally shake off that voltage, no problem. Peter’s physical reaction to the pain only lasts for a moment, but he’s not in any condition to fight a battle during those few seconds.”

“Does emotional stress have the same impact?”

“Michelle’s here because she’s the person in this compound he has the highest emotional attachment to,” Bruce manages thoughtfully. 

“Not fair; I’m like a benevolent but distant father figure to him, whereas Michelle is like…” Tony stares helplessly at their still-joined hands and waves his own vaguely in front of Michelle as if doing so would make a word materialize. 

Antonia looks very unimpressed as she looks skyward, more disgusted than angry. “You’re a mess, Tony. Are you sure you’re not actually the one with a possible brain injury? Should you be working right now?”

Perhaps sensing a bit of an argument, Bruce tries to get them back on track. “There’s really no precedent for testing something like this out. I mean, harming her to test Peter’s emotional reaction to the compound is really unethical. Besides, Peter knows we won’t hurt her, so we can’t really measure the effects—wait, _Tony_?!”

Tony storms over the pair and gives Peter a hard shove to separate him from Michelle. Their hands break apart and it sends a painful jolt up her arm. Michelle cries out when Tony suddenly loops an arm around her waist, hoisting her forcefully over his shoulder and hauling her across the lab kicking and screaming. Michelle’s panic makes Peter’s pulse skyrocket but before he can interfere, he finds himself lying on the ground gasping in pain. 

“Did you get a good reading on that, Antonia?” Tony calls over his shoulder.

“Sure did. His amplified response to emotional duress is debilitating—much higher than anything we’ve done to him previously. The norepinephrine level that caused his heart rate to soar also caused the pathogen to incapacitate him. It’s like the compound reverses the effects of certain hormones, but specifically those associated with responding in a fight or helping someone in need.” 

Michelle kicks Tony’s shin when she’s lowered back down to the ground. It’s not meant to hurt him, but he receives the message loud and clear. She rushes over to Peter.

“Peter’s powers are a little unpredictable right now,” Antonia warns. “If you upset him too much he’s liable to suffer serious injury or death; you know, that thing we were trying to avoid by being a little more cautious than you were just now.”

“I saw an opportunity to make a breakthrough and I took it,” Tony states. He looks into Michelle’s eyes. “I had to test it out and telling him about it first would have hindered the results. I’m sorry, but at least what I did sure hurts less than getting electrocuted. We also unlocked the bonus of discovering the extent of Peter’s condition as well as the main trigger. Congratulations, Michelle, you’re the belle of the ball.”

Michelle watches her still-soaring pulse recorded on the monitor to her left because looking at Peter’s pained expression is too uncomfortable. Peter’s hands clench weakly in her grasp and the implications of what might happen to him if something happens to _her_ is pretty overwhelming.

“Peter’s response to physical stimuli was muted compared to this,” Antonia reasons. “It might not even be the physical pain, but emotional reaction he’d undergo when he knew the pain was coming. I’m sorry, Michelle. I’m not a fan of the liberties that Tony just took because they were very risky for Peter, but we couldn’t have done it without you too.”

Bruce shoots Michelle an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Michelle.” 

“Everyone loves to hear that they’re a giant liability for their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” Michelle grumbles. “But if Harry is looking to hurt Peter this way, aren’t May and Ned in even more danger?”

“Ned Leeds is on vacation in Mexico,” Peter pipes up. He’s sitting up and Michelle helps him to his feet with Bruce's help. Tony mutters something about “God’s blind spot” and Antonia levels some devastating side-eye in his direction. 

“May refuses to leave the city,” Peter says bitterly.

“But Hawkeye,” Tony counters soothingly.

“You don’t even like Clint,” Peter says accusingly, and Tony doesn’t deny it.

"Doesn't mean he can't handle a protection detail," Tony counters.

“Wait, the bow and arrow guy?” Michelle asks. 

“Yes, but he also has half a dozen other agents with him,” Tony reasons. “We don’t think May’s a target. Several attempts at phone traces and credit card inquiries have been discreetly made for _you_ , Michelle, not them. Osborn must be using some law enforcement connections to find you, but I promise you that he won’t.”

Michelle feels dread sitting heavy in her stomach and it makes her about half sick. She’s unaccustomed to worrying about herself—she spends most of her time invested in the social affairs of others—for her own amusement. She probably deserves this.

“I don’t get why Harry would even need me to flush out Peter,” Michelle admits. "Ned and May make more sense for that."

“Have you considered that Osborn’s more focused on you than Peter?"

Michelle almost laughs. "Why would he care about me when Peter is _Spider-Man_?"

"You did mention he asked you out several times. Maybe he thinks Peter is an obstacle?” Tony’s voice is oddly neutral and devoid of the usual sarcasm. “I’ve had a few crazy ex-girlfriends and I can tell you that if they think someone’s a threat to being with you, they want to eliminate that threat.”

Michelle’s brain is going to short-circuit. “I don’t know why he’d think Peter would be interfering.”

Tony looks dead serious while Antonia looks like she’s either going to laugh or cry. “Really, you don’t?”

Michelle is too cowardly to look at Peter. She doesn’t want to see how upset he is—he’s in a world of hurt because of her. “Look, Stark, I don’t know what Harry’s deal is. If he’s obsessed with me it’s because I’m friends with Spider-Man. Hey Peter, how long has he known about your identity?”

Peter’s voice is clipped. “Three months, which means he asked you to Homecoming on his own.”

He sounds kind of pissed. Peter doesn’t normally get pissed. He’s a very emotional person but his anger is usually broad and unfocused; Michelle feels like she’s taking the full brunt. It’s sharp and cutting in ways she can’t handle right now.

“What is your problem, Peter? I didn’t do anything wrong. Normally I’d say I can handle myself—and I can! Admit it, a psycho admirer turning out to be a super villain is an outlier. Denying a guy a few dates and this whole shit show goes down…this is generally why women have a hard time telling a man no.”

“So, why aren’t you interested in Harry Osborn?” Antonia leans forward and shifts the ice pack on her face. Her tone is purely curious. “He’s obviously a smart guy if he attends your school and if I had to guess, that would be your number one criteria.”

A normal person might be tempted to be self-conscious when asked this question in front of not only the object of her affection and said object’s filthy rich superhero benefactor, but Michelle can answer this one easily without embarrassment.

“I would never date a man who thought _Wuthering Heights_ was romantic. Catherine and Heathcliff ruin everyone’s lives and I have _never_ been happier to read about two characters dying. Harry told me how romantic it is that they’re so passionate about each other and I knew that if _that_ was his idea of romance I could never take him seriously. If you’re going to use literature to impress a girl, maybe pick a book where the heroine isn’t so extra and the hero isn’t a giant, abusive dick.”

“Tony, can I take her with me to my conference in Switzerland tomorrow?” Antonia pleads. “She’s just precious. The two of us combined might actually mean an entire percent of attendees aren’t rich white guys.” 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Antonia, you’re a doctor and a millionaire. You’re part of the one percent, just saying. And I’m pretty sure after Harry Osborn, Michelle’s had enough of rich white guys for the time being.” 

“I don’t care what men look like or how much money they have,” Michelle grumbles. “The important thing is how evil they are, information I really would have liked to have known about Harry before he blew up the library.”

“Michelle, if you had an inkling of what he was capable of, you wouldn’t have been able to resist uncovering the truth yourself. The last thing I needed was Harry trying to kill you because you were asking too many questions about his father’s company and the weapons they were manufacturing.”

“Oh, but I already asked him about Oscorp months ago. A former employee blew the whistle and mysteriously disappeared, remember?”

“Yeah, but you eventually dropped it.”

“Not that it did much good,” Michelle grouses. “I wonder if a conciliatory date would have prevented this. I’m normally vehemently against such things, but it would have been easier than dealing with everything that’s happening now. Maybe if I would have gone to see Trevor Noah with Harry none of this would have happened.”

“You don’t like Trevor Noah.”

“I do, actually, he’s just too mainstream for me to admit to liking without being prompted. You never asked.”

Peter looks betrayed.

“Um, children, let’s figure out where we need to go from here, because my very angry ex-fiancée is currently delivering a budget report to the Stark Industries board by herself while I listen to you two bicker like an old married couple.”

“Well, I’m still working on finding a cure,” Bruce pipes up from a far corner of the med lab.

“And I’ll help until I have to leave tomorrow,” Annie adds. “I’ll be back in two days, but hopefully by then Bruce will have found one.”

“Does Peter need to stay down here while you guys work? Or is he allowed to leave?”

“A couple hours of his restlessness might have an effect on the Big Guy,” Bruce winces. It’s a nice way of saying that he finds Peter a little annoying when he’s trying to work. 

“You’re both free to go,” Antonia says with a smile, handing Peter his shirt.

Michelle picks up her backpack and opens her mouth to tell Peter to follow her upstairs when it occurs to her that maybe that’s not what he wants at all. He’s in this entire situation because he tried to protect her from Harry. And now it comes to light that she’s practically his kryptonite—or at least her emotional distress is. Michelle is being hunted by a psychopath and honestly can’t _remember_ the last time she was so on edge. She’s a minefield of prickly moods for him on a good day. Peter’s concern for her has shackled them together in this mess and maybe he doesn’t want to see her at all and risk another episode.

“Hey Peter,” Michelle begins almost shyly. She’s heading upstairs and to her relief, he’s following her.

“Yeah?”

“Tony mentioned that you took a turn for the worse this morning. What happened? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Peter’s clearly not expecting this question; a crease forms between his eyebrows as he gives her a long, intense look. “It wasn’t as bad as it sounds.”

“Peter, Tony flew all the way from California back to New York in his Iron Man suit. That’s a really uncomfortable way for a billionaire to spend his morning.”

With a sigh, Peter finds a very interesting computer interface over her left shoulder and stares at it intently. “I had a bad nightmare about Harry finding you. It felt so real. I managed to make it out of the room before the hyperventilating and pain started. Bruce found me outside and carried me to the lab.”

“I don’t like that worrying about me is so devastating for you,” Michelle admits. "I'd hate to be a burden on you."

“It’s better to have you around to worry about than not,” Peter says quietly. He must be thinking about Gwen.

“I would have never thought Harry had it in him to flip out over anything, ever, although I guess we don’t really know for sure what tipped him over the edge.”

Peter studies her face carefully. “Harry never did anything to hurt you, did he? I mean before the library incident.”

“No,” Michelle trails off. “I mean, he was persistent. He’s the first guy that was—well, I’m not highly sought-after so I don’t know from experience, but I’ve read a lot of articles about consent and boundaries and there were a few things he did that made me uncomfortable. He tried to put his arm around me a couple of times but I just brushed him off. He was so non-threatening and a little pathetic I felt bad confronting him; I just thought he was _that_ socially awkward. I drew the line when he touched my hair. I got mad so he backed off with the touching, but he still kept asking me out.”

“MJ, I had no idea you were going through all this.”

“This is so humiliating,” Michelle says in a tiny voice. “It made me feel like I had no agency and I let it happen to myself. But it’s not even a big deal. He didn’t actually hurt me.”

“Until he did, MJ.”

“I don’t know what scares me more, him coming after me because of you being Spider-Man or because of something he thinks that _I_ did to deserve it. If he hurt you or you lost your powers because you tried to help me, I’d never forgive myself, Peter.”

“He made that compound specifically to affect me but I don’t care about the reason. He won’t lay a finger on you.”

“I’ve never seen you this protective.”

“Seeing him stand over your body like that is one of the worst things I’ve ever seen. I heard the blast and saw you lying there…I didn’t know if you were alive.”

“Is that what you saw in your nightmare?”

Peter finally meets her eyes before glancing down, his voice soft. “More or less.”

Michelle has a burning desire to know what upset him enough to collapse outside her room, but realizes if it was that horrific, she probably actually _doesn’t_ need to. Reliving it might hurt him even more. Michelle feels kind of shitty that Peter’s condition is the catalyst for treating him with more consideration. She still calls him names but can safely admit that they’re terms of endearments now. She has never stopped calling him out on his bullshit and continues to be generous with her time, but while they’ve gotten truly close over the past year, she’s been very careful to keep him at arm’s length in other ways. She hasn't really thought about how acting preoccupied and uncomfortable during all their time together might be perceived by him. She never thought it might be hurting him.

She's not confrontational in this matter; it’s distance comprised of diminished enthusiasm and tempered smiles and carefully controlled reactions. Seeing Peter is the best part of her day. It scares her. Michelle knows she should be content with all she can provide for herself—she doesn’t need _anyone_ to feel or be better. She’s always promised herself she’d never let him treat her like Liz. She won’t accept lies, she won’t accept excuses, and she won’t accept his absence when she really needs him. 

_I’ve never really needed him until now, not the way he needed me after Gwen died. This is the first time I’ve been so vulnerable. This can't be easy on him either_. 

Without thinking, Michelle winds her arms around Peter’s neck. She is not a half-assed hug person, so she feels every inch of his front pressed against hers when she holds him in her arms. She's hyper aware of him in this moment. She smells the scent of his clean sweat as her battered cheekbone smears it against his temple. She feels his hands on her back and tries not to squirm when they run over her bruises. She hears the slight hitch of his breath as he adjusts her in his arms so he can sag against her—relax because for at least half a moment, she's safe.

“Wanna get some lunch, Peter?"

"That would be awesome.”

Peter has a metabolism that any sane person would envy, and Michelle makes the suggestion just to see his face light up. He takes off for the kitchen, no traces of his earlier fatigue. Adjusting her backpack on her shoulder, she follows at a slower pace. She can hear conversation ahead of her—Peter and a voice she doesn’t recognize. Michelle brushes hair from her eyes as she rounds the last corner, not knowing what to expect.

A woman in her late twenties, maybe a few years younger than Antonia, is leaning against the island. She’s absolutely stunning: her jewel of a mouth is adorned with shiny gloss, her hair is a sheet of shiny waves hanging halfway down her back, and her pinup model figure is dressed a hair too casual to be from Stark Industries. Michelle wouldn’t be surprised if she worked in the compound, though, due to her familiarity with kitchen as she fetches a glass from the cupboard. She's smiling at Peter, who's currently showing her a meme on his phone.

The woman manages to pour her entire serving of organic juice before her ocean-colored eyes fall on Michelle. Alarm bells go off when the older woman grins slowly. Michelle has seen this look before. In fact, she's fond of it herself. It’s not a cruel smile; it’s infinitely worse. This woman's delight is palpable. 

“Peter, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!”


	5. Untangeling, Unraveling My Heavy Heart Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover over the Russian to translate :)

-

“Peter and I aren’t dating.” 

After two and a half years of avoidance, suppression, and flat out denial it’s a little painful to admit, even if it’s what she wants everyone to think. Michelle is very pointedly avoiding looking at Peter, because any reaction he might have will find some way to break her heart a little, and her retort comes out a little sharper than intended.

“You might want to consider it, then,” the woman advises. Her voice is a touch dry and rather scratchy, with an almost musical whine but in a minor key. “Peter can cook; I just put him to work on his half of brunch for us. You shouldn’t let a guy like that get away.”

“There are more important things to consider than if a man can cook,” Michelle counters.

_Things like if he reads the books I recommend, how he makes my sweaters smell when he borrows them, the way hair flops across his forehead when he moves around too fast, how he promises he’ll protect me from a crazy super villain in a mask…_

The woman’s eyebrows lift, and _fuck_ , she knows— _somehow she knows_. Michelle has successfully deceived her only living blood relative, an entire high school, May Parker, Ned Leeds, Tony Stark, _and_ Peter himself that there’s no interest there. Antonia politely dropped it, Steve was mildly disbelieving and Bucky was kind of a shithead, but this woman _knows_ that Michelle is a lying liar that lies.

(No one can be disappointed if they don’t expect it, and that no one may or may not be Michelle.)

As if sensing her victory, the woman very demurely extends her hand. “Hello, Not-Peter’s-Girlfriend. I’m Darcy Lewis.”

“Why don’t you call me Michelle instead,” she suggests. Michelle shakes her hand and tries not to shrink away from Darcy’s megawatt smile. She wonders if the people that fall victim to her own observations feel similarly helpless. She doesn’t want Darcy to say anything that might upset Peter, but then again, when has she extended the same courtesy to others?

“So, what have you done to get you confined to this shit hole?” Darcy smirks. She’s joking, of course. The bedroom she’s assigned at the compound is bigger than Michelle’s entire apartment back in New York. She can practically feel Peter’s eyes digging into the back of her head. 

“Uh, there’s a guy at school that decided to try blowing up part of it,” Michelle says sheepishly. “He knows that Peter is Spider-Man and seems to have it out for me.”

Michelle elaborates on Peter’s condition and what Harry Osborn is like (“rich, douchey”) while Peter remains uncharacteristically quiet in the background as he cooks brunch. Michelle doesn’t believe she’ll actually get hurt —it’s not like she’s Peter’s real girlfriend—nor does she think Peter would actually allow any harm to befall her. It’s the idea that he’s backed her into a corner and turned her life upside down that has her upset.

Darcy begins starts pouring a bag of chocolate chips into the enormous bowl of pancake batter she’s preparing. “I’m sure if Bruce and Annie are working on it, he’ll be better in no time. This whackadoodle sounds like loads of fun. I guess when Peter’s better he can take care of him.”

“I should only be here about two weeks, but Tony says Harry’s actively looking for me so I should stay off the grid,” Michelle says, attempting to sound nonchalant. She’s already been accepted to her first choice college, so even if she phones it in regarding school work it doesn’t really matter. It’s also Spring Break, which means nothing to her because she doesn’t have enough money to actually go anywhere, so she won’t be missing as much class as she normally would. (Why Midtown needs Spring Break, she’ll never know—she suspects it’s more for the teachers.) 

“Aren’t you going to be bored if you can’t leave?”

Michelle shrugs. “It’s the perfect time to re-read Michael Chabon and Anton Chekhov. I’m good for the next few days at least.”

Darcy smiles warmly and points to Michelle’s backpack. “No Fitzgerald or Salinger?”

“Fuck no. _The Great Gatsby_ is full of characters who I would despise if I knew them in real life and because of J.D. Salinger I can’t hate anything now without being compared to that annoying asshole Holden Caulfield. Those books are so antiquated and pretentious and we’re all forced to read them instead of more deserving titles. A literature assignment from school about a brown person would be refreshing for a change.”

Darcy actually claps her hands together. “I’m not especially well-read, but by any chance, have you read _Jackson, 1964_?”

“No, but Calvin Trillin is highly entertaining.” Michelle recalls him being interviewed by Trevor Noah. 

“Can I bring it by for you later? It’s only three hundred pages. It won’t take you very long to get through it once you get around to it.”

Michelle actually smiles. “Yeah, thanks.” 

“Hey Peter, how’s your end coming along?”

“Okay, I guess,” Peter ventures. He’s sprinkling brown sugar on his breakfast meat; candied bacon is one of his favorite things. Michelle hopes that his super-charged healing abilities are doing something to restore the enamel on his teeth.

“Go easy on that brown sugar, Peter,” Darcy comments, eyeing his ingredients and smiling at him. “Between that and these pancakes, everyone’s going to get mad cavities.”

“Everyone?”

“Oh yeah, I just sent out a mass text,” Darcy informs her. "I have never met hungrier people than the Avengers. It looks like only a few are able to make it, though. More for us.”

Michelle realizes she’s still wearing the same clothes she slept in and it’s already the afternoon. She wouldn’t normally mind, but with her arms and legs exposed, she feels a little under-dressed. She positions herself behind the kitchen island and watches James file in along with a man Michelle recognizes as Sam Wilson. Oh, and he’s _handsome_. She feels kind of shallow for thinking it, but these Avengers are pretty fine. She reasons it’s not objectification but rather objective fact. They're both wearing tight t-shirts that stretch over their biceps and Michelle rips her eyes from them before Peter catches her staring.

James heads straight towards Peter and starts loading an unholy amount of bacon onto his plate, while Sam makes a beeline towards _her_.

“You must be Michelle. I’m Sam Wilson.” Michelle shakes the offered hand politely. _It's weird to think he was just in Brazil less than twelve hours ago. I wonder how much these guys jet set._

In contrast to Darcy, his voice is confident and smooth. His easy and charming demeanor kind of reminds her of Lando from those _Star Wars_ movies that Peter loves so much. Michelle is reminded of the scene where he meets and creeps on Princess Leia. Sam is straight-up checking her out.

“Do I have something on my face?” Michelle is getting real tired of this shit. “I’d better, because this is not the MoMA and I’m not a museum exhibit.”

Sam throws up his hands and grins at James. “Dude, you were so right. She's taller than him! Match made in heaven!”

Peter sets his plate down with more force than necessary and Michelle is reminded that he's a little more sensitive to teasing than before.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Michelle demands grumpily.

“So Michelle,” Sam begins, completely ignoring her outburst, “what exactly about Peter drew you in? Was it his love of Lego sets? His diet of Swedish fish? Maybe his height?”

“I like the fact that he doesn’t ask a bunch of off-putting personal questions when he meets somebody for the first time,” Michelle says drolly, raising her eyebrow at him before turning her back on him to grab a plate of food and taking a seat.

Far from appearing repentant, Sam almost vibrates with glee. “This is the best day.”

“Darcy, are you seriously going to serve that girl a mimosa?” James asks with a pinched expression as Darcy produces a champagne bottle from seemingly out of nowhere. She stares at it, stares at James, and bats her lashes at him. Rolling his eyes, he expertly uncorks it for her in a brutal, interrupted movement that's almost graceful.

“What’s wrong with giving the nice lady a drink?” Darcy asks innocently, pouring champagne and orange juice into flutes. 

“She’s in high school.”

“She looks like she’s old enough to handle just one,” Darcy declares. She studies Michelle speculatively. “Wait, how old are you again?”

James sighs as he piles his plate high with chocolate chip pancakes and sits down next to Peter, whose portion sizes are bordering on epic.

“I’m old enough to vote,” Michelle informs her, taking a glass for herself and one extra. She hands one to Peter, not sure if she expected an objection or not. She sips the drink and wonders if he might find it too dry. Champagne is surprisingly not sweet, she realizes. Overall it's good; she’s never had one before and the fresh-squeezed orange juice is refreshing. Peter drains his glass in one go but does not receive another.

“God bless Stark’s liquor cabinet,” Darcy crows, filling her own glass for the first time. “Dom Pérignon sure beats the ten dollar bottles of Freixenet I could afford in college.”

“Hey, hand some of that girly shit over here,” Sam demands with a grin. He sips his with glee.

Darcy complies. When she tries to scoot a glass at James, he shakes his head.

“No thanks.”

“What, not angsty enough for you?” Sam asks. “It’s too early for bourbon, man. Lighten up.”

James shoots him a look before swiping the glass beside his plate wordlessly and taking a swallow.

“So Michelle, we never finished our conversation,” Sam declares.

“It was less a conversation and more an interrogation. Hard pass, dude.”

“How about if you answer my question and I’ll answer one of yours?”

Michelle smiles a bit, which instantly alerts Peter that something uncomfortable is inbound. “Do you like working for the newly-established S.H.I.E.L.D. under Director Hill or do you ever wonder if it will be infiltrated by an evil global organization right under everyone’s nose? Like, on a scale of one-to-ten, how confident are you that Hydra won't try that shit again?”

(Michelle has honestly never understood why Steve thought his judgment in regards to the Avengers was any better than the UN’s because that is a pretty big oversight in her opinion No one's fucking perfect.)

Sam glares at her. There’s a moment of horrific silence until Darcy practically chokes from holding in her laughter and takes a picture with her Stark phone.

“That face is _so_ going in my Snapchat story.”

“So Michelle, you must be so much fun at parties,” Sam grinds out. He looks to James for support, who merely shrugs as if to say _I told you so._

“I’m actually not.”

“That’s a real shocker.”

“Ha, Steve just got my Snap,” Darcy says with a smile. “Where is he, by the way? He doesn’t pass up food, like, ever.”

“Wanda’s still training with Stephen Strange and I think he’s afraid to leave them alone together. Aside from Thanos, Wanda’s not too experienced against people that fight with magic. Strange and Wanda trained by themselves once and a car somehow ended up crashing into a Quinjet. No one got hurt, but it somehow ended up in Instagram.”

Sam glares at Darcy, who merely smiles and sips her mimosa.

“Wait, did someone say Stephen Strange?” Antonia appears around the corner with a suitcase and a mesh animal carrier. She’s wearing an enormous pair of sunglasses coated in pink rhinestones. She walks over to the stove and pulls out a piece of candied bacon. “I wish he could use his freaky magic to teleport me to LaGuardia. I’d buy him a Tag Heuer watch while I’m in Bern.”

“I thought your flight wasn’t until tomorrow?” Michelle tries to keep the accusation out of her voice.

“Helen Cho is on her way over; I hate to tag-team something so important, but I have to leave here in less than ten minutes.”

James frowns. “Is everything okay?”

“Viastone is has been caught trying to steal some of my proprietary technology and I have to meet with a bunch of lawyers before my patented targeting system becomes an accessory to the next world war. Tiberius Stone is the _worst_. I don’t usually actively wish death on people, but I can honestly say the world would be a better place without him in it fucking up all my shit.”

Ignoring the mimosa ingredients on the counter, Antonia rummages through a cabinet and pours herself a very large portion of Scotch.

“Um, aren’t you going to have to drive?” Sam asks tentatively when he sees the volume of alcohol in her glass.

“I’m calling a cab for the airport. I don’t like leaving my car there.”

“Can’t Happy take you?” Peter asks.

“He’s Tony’s employee, not mine,” Antonia reasons. 

“You don’t want to take Tony’s jet?” Darcy asks loftily.

“Half the scientific community already thinks we’re fucking, because apparently that’s the inevitable outcome when you’re a woman and you work with a man,” Antonia grumbles. “If I roll up in a private jet, let alone Stark’s, no one is going to pay _any_ attention on my lecture on integrated circuits. I can suffer a plane ride like a normal person.”

“Is Tony going to be here long?” Peter asks.

“He’s heading to California again in a few hours—as soon as Helen Cho arrives. She normally works here at the facility but traveled to Seattle to perform emergency surgery. Honestly, it’ll be good for Tony to get out of here. He’s losing his mind down there.”

“It’s because he’s so worried about you, Peter,” Darcy says kindly, reaching over and ruffling his hair. 

Peter turns red and tries to smooth down his unruly locks, but they’re messy in a way Michelle has always secretly liked.

Antonia raises her glass. “Between Bruce and Helen, they should have something for him to by the end of tomorrow.”

Relief floods Michelle. She’s not feeling super great that Antonia’s leaving before the cure is all buttoned up, but everything sounds like it is being handled. At least she's _heard_ of Doctor Cho before.

“Nice sunglasses, by the way,” Darcy remarks. “Aren’t they from Jane's bachelorette party? Haha, busted.”

Antonia stares right at her through her rose-tinted lenses before pushing the glasses back off her face completely. "I didn't steal them for fun, Darcy."

“Holy shit!” Sam and Darcy shout at the same time. James stares intently at his plate as they ask how it happened. Michelle wonders if James knew how hard he hit her at the time. It probably didn’t look anywhere near as bad the night before.

“I zigged when I should have zagged,” Annie says indifferently, sliding the glasses back down. “I’ve got a photostatic veil I can wear in Switzerland. The only thing I’m worried about is Firefly. James, I know it’s a day early, but can you still look after him?”

Sam looks her dead in the eye with a straight face and gives her shoulder a pat. “Annie, James would _love_ to take good care of your pussycat.”

“Excellent!” Antonia exclaims, bending down to pick up the carrier and missing James give Sam warning look. “Is it okay if I let him out now?”

“I don’t know, dude,” Sam grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “Can you handle Annie’s—”

Sam hisses in pain as James grinds the heel of his boot into his foot.

“Actually, can I look after him a little?” Michelle surprises herself by asking. 

A really grateful look graces Antonia’s face and Michelle finds herself blushing. The black cat Antonia pulls from the carrier regards the group with stoicism. “That’s really sweet of you, Michelle. Firefly is a real angel.”

“Maybe a fallen angel,” James mutters.

Antonia’s head whips around. “Don’t say that. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

James pretends to appear properly chastised and Peter laughs.

Lifting the cat to her face, Antonia drops a few kisses on the top of his head. “James has all the directions you might need in regards to feeding him. Oh, I’m so glad he’ll be with you. I didn’t know you liked cats!”

“Um, I know you sure did,” Michelle says weakly, recalling the mug and blanket.

“You must talk to him,” Antonia urges, placing Firefly on the ground. “Tell him he is a pretty cat. And a good cat.”

Michelle cracks a smile when she recognizes the line from _Star Trek_. “I will feed him.”

“Perhaps that will be enough.”

Darcy, Sam, and James watch the exchange, befuddled while Peter smiles around a bite of pancakes.

“I don’t know what you’re quoting, but _nerd alert_ is a safe assumption,” Darcy whispers. 

Antonia’s watch beeps before she can respond. “Well, I gotta run. See you in a few days!” 

Antonia leans over and gives Sam a one-armed hug. Michelle remains seated for her handshake, Peter gets a pinch on the cheek, Darcy stands to receive a hug and gets a little pat on the hip too. James averts his eyes from the group when she gives him a softhearted kiss on the cheek.

“Прости,” James whispers, bending his head a little so it’s closer to her ear.

Annie's voice is similarly soft. “Не беспокойся, это не важно. я в порядке.”

Michelle finds it kind of sweet how James relaxes a bit until he realizes that every pair of eyes in the room is staring at him. Seemingly oblivious to everything except her watch beeping again, Antonia picks up her suitcase and leaves behind a group of waving people. There’s a solid ten seconds of silence after she’s gone before Sam whips around to James.

“Dude, when I told you that you needed to hit that, I didn’t mean right in the face.”

 _Wow, and I thought I was the best person ever at destroying a tender moment_.

James looks pissed. “You think I haven’t been feeling bad about it all morning?”

"That's probably why you were even pissier than usual," Sam muses. “Think positive, though. You literally hit her in the eye and she’s not mad. Maybe she likes you after all. Or maybe she’s into really kinky shit. She's told me some interesting stories from CalTech.” 

James looks like he’s actually gearing up to hit Sam before Darcy waves her hand in the air like she’s trying to flag down a rescue plane.

“Guys,” Darcy shouts, pointing her finger at them when they finally look at her. “Not in front of the children. Sam, you should probably apologize for being an asshole, though.”

“Sorry, kids,” Sam gives a half-hearted wave to Peter and Michelle. “I just like making fun of your Uncle Jamie. You should try it sometime.”

James pulls a face before his eyes settle on her. “Michelle, since you were so kind to volunteer to help, why don’t you take the first shift and watch Satan?”

“Satan?”

“That devil creature that looks like a cat.”

“He seems fine.” Michelle holds her fingers out for Firefly to sniff. The cat looks at her momentarily before staring at the wall behind her, seemingly incapable of the evil that James suggests.

“Bucky’s right on this one,” Sam agrees. “I hate to say it, too, but that cat is a dick.”

“He likes Annie.” Michelle crosses her arms.

“If I had an attractive woman pick me up and kiss me all the time and tell me how pretty I was I’d probably be real cool with her too,” Sam points out.

Peter extends his hand to Firefly who seems genuinely disinterested in Peter’s friendly overtures but not upset in any way. Peter smiles shyly and goes to pet Firefly, who whips his head around and delivers a warning meow so terrifying that Sam and Darcy flinch. 

“Maybe he only likes girls?” Michelle offers weakly.

“He’s scratched Wanda _and_ Natasha,” Darcy says. “This is my first time meeting him, but I’m going to have to pass on an attempt. I choose life.”

“Huh,” Michelle huffs. She bravely places her hand on his shoulder blades and runs it down his back. She closes her fingers around his tail and makes it all the way to the end without receiving a scratch. Firefly bumps his face against her leg.

“What the hell?” Sam points his finger reproachfully.

“How is it my fault he likes me?”

“It’s gotta be dark magic,” Sam suggests.

Michelle scoops Firefly up and places him on her lap. He stares at the bacon left on her plate and she breaks off a tiny piece that’s not coated in brown sugar and feeds it to him. The volume of his purring increases.

“Hey Peter, can we throw Michelle in the pool to see if she floats like a real witch?” Darcy jokes.

“Isn't that a Monty Python reference?” Michelle asks, finishing off her bacon. “Because that’s one thing no one will ever convince me to watch.”

“Thor is the only person in this compound that likes it,” Darcy says. “I had to tell him you’re actually supposed to eat coconuts and not bang them together, and he bit into one without cracking it open first. Æsir are generally entertaining dinner guests.”

Gently lowering the cat to the ground again, Michelle stands to put her clean plate in the sink and start washing it. It’s reflexive after years of cleaning up after her and her brother so he can work sixteen hours a day at the hospital. As she stands, she catches movement from the corner of her eye and Sam is whispering something to Peter that makes him sputter.

“What’s going on over there?” Michelle doesn’t like the look on Peter’s face.

Peter assures her it's nothing at the same time Darcy dryly intones, “Sam asked what Peter did to score such a dime piece.”

"Dime piece? You don't have to make fun of me. Peter's totally going to get mad if you keep this up. If you make him too upset, you’ll cause the compound to react with his hormones. You will literally cause him physical harm. I’m telling Captain America if you hurt him.”

Michelle wrinkles her nose in disgust before continuing to wash dishes. James gives Sam a brutally hard clap on the shoulder before he stands to leave. He thanks Darcy and Peter for brunch with a nod of his head and takes off. Firefly goes to follow him until James whips around and points a finger in his face.

“Stay.”

“I don’t think you get how cats work,” Peter points out.

Firefly meows angrily at James and once again Darcy and Sam flinch.

“Is he secretly the reincarnation of a Victorian orphan or something?” Sam shudders. “I’ve never heard an animal sound that sad and angry. It’s gross.”

They hear James swear as the cat takes off after him.

“Um, is that cat allowed to roam this place unsupervised, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Darcy wonders.

“Boss has safety parameters in place to prevent the animal from entering restricted areas under Feline Protocol 001.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice intones coolly.

“That’s thoughtful of Stark,” Sam says suspiciously.

“Boss is fond of cats, even though this one has inflicted injury upon nearly every occupant of the tower.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. almost sounds amused.

 _Stark probably finds that shit funny_ , Michelle realizes. “Hey F.R.I.D.A.Y., is there anyone besides me and Annie that he likes?”

“Signs point to no.”

“Huh,” Michelle muses. “Hey, Firefly!”

Her voice echoes unnaturally loud down the hall. There’s a loud chirping noise, and to everyone’s amazement, the cat appears and approaches Michelle briskly with a little spring in his step. His limbs are long and slender, giving him an almost effeminate appearance. His tail is over a foot long; Michelle has _never_ seen a cat’s tail so impossibly skinny. The end tips back and forth like a pendulum. His black face is long and his green eyes shine like gems as he tilts his head to the side. There’s a small white diamond in the middle of his chest that she rubs when he reaches her. 

“You might want to put on a pair of long pants before he scratches up your pretty legs,” Darcy suggests. 

Sam agrees. “Wanda thought she was safe too and then she got mauled. We're talking Freddy Krueger-level shit.”

“I’ll have to borrow a pair of Peter’s, but that’s not a bad idea,” Michelle agrees. _Cats aren't exactly predictable...not even boring old Elinor._

“Hey Peter, do you think you’re okay to keep training? Or at least exercise? Bucky and I already beat the shit out of each other this morning, so we could go running right now if you want.”

“I guess now that I know what sets me off, I should be able to handle that,” Peter says with a grin. He looks over at Michelle and his expression falters.

“I think you need to burn off some of your energy,” Michelle says carefully. "I'll be fun."

She’s not sure if Peter feels guilty about leaving her or guilty about being happy to leave her. She doesn’t want to be his ball and chain indefinitely, nor does she really want to give the impression she wants or needs to spend all damn day with him until his condition is cured. She _likes_ time to herself; it doesn’t matter how much she loves Peter. She also knows that due to all the tests and experiments, he's probably been dying for a proper workout.

The clinking of dishes in the sink that Darcy’s washing nearly makes her jump but it spurs Peter into action.

“I’ll come by your room at six and we can grab dinner, MJ.”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Michelle smiles almost shyly but loses it completely when she catches Sam’s jubilant face. _Asshole_.

“You better go easy on him.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I won’t hurt your boy.”

Realizing it’s pointless to argue, Michelle calls over to Darcy. “Do you need any help?”

“Nah, I’m good. I meant what I said; I’ll get that book to you later!”

Michelle hoists her backpack over her shoulder and heads back to her room with Firefly following after her. It's time to Google the shit out of Helen Cho.


	6. I Never Thought I'd Wait So Long for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous references to _Futurama_ and _Star Trek: TOS_.

Michelle feels like her eyes are going to bleed. 

It turns out Helen Cho has written a shit ton of medical research and Stark has access to nearly everything she’s ever published. Michelle is no stranger to reading abstracts, but they’re dense and full of so much jargon that she has trouble figuring out which articles would be relevant to Peter’s condition. F.R.I.D.A.Y. thankfully helps her narrow down her search field, and soon Michelle is researching all three doctors helping Peter. It turns into an hour of free association while she looks up all things regarding famous scientists linked to the Avengers.

Bruce has doctorates in nuclear physics and biochemistry from Harvard. He taught at Culver until his accident and since his _condition_ has similar emotional triggers to Peter’s current one, it makes sense that he’s working on it. He’s spent years looking into ways to reverse his condition and has lots of experience manufacturing various serums and cures. Michelle wonders if he’ll suggest radiation therapy—after all, Peter received his powers because of radiation and she’s not sure if more is a good idea. Bruce had too much and turned into the Hulk because of it.

Apparently he and Doctor Ross participated in a hallucinogenic drug study. Michelle’s brain supplies the word _groovy_ and she smiles, imagining one of the world's foremost geniuses getting stoned for science. Peter told her that Bruce sometimes smokes a little pot and meditates and does yoga, too. When Michelle thinks of foremost leading scientists, she thinks of how put together Stark is at his best. Brilliant, composed, collected. And it’s _dumb_ , yeah, but she imagines someone in tinkering in their lab like Peter when he’s excitedly working on the suit (one of the few times he’s really focused) and doesn’t think of them wearing linen pants in the lab like Bruce or covered in tattoos like Annie. 

Antonia’s expertise in biomedical engineering made James Barnes’s arm possible and Michelle is grateful that one of her three doctorates is in neurology—there was so much biological science involved in that degree that she started pre-med when she was only fifteen. Like her father, she frequently collaborates with other scientists, doctors, and engineers; her tech was partially adapted to make Colonel Rhodes’s spinal implants and Stark’s Binary Augmented Retro Framing device. Due to the delicate nature of neural engineering, Antonia’s extensive research on the hypothalamus and endocrine system makes her perfect for studying Peter’s condition and understanding how the pathogen operates. 

(Michelle learns that biomedical engineering has the highest percentage of female engineers compared to other common engineering professions and fangirls a little. Her high school specializes in science and math and her comment to Peter about the male/female ratio was no joke.)

Helen Cho’s work gives Michelle chills. Apparently her Regeneration Cradle is so powerful it can bring people back from the brink of death. The details are slim because the technology is protected by more red tape and patents than the arc reactor. F.R.I.D.A.Y. informs her that the Cradle was also used to create the Vision, something Michelle doesn’t think is public knowledge. She supposes it’s fitting for a geneticist, for her creation to help form a wholly unique being. Her work with nanites sounds like something out of _Star Trek: Voyager_ and damn if that’s not where Michelle’s mind goes. It’s pretty freaking cool.

Michelle wonders if Helen Cho’s nanotechnology can fix Peter somehow if Bruce’s cure won’t help. She imagines Peter lying in a metal capsule while his organs wither away, praying that science can rebuild him and make him whole. She only has her boundless imagination to fuel these useless but vivid daydreams, but the knowledge that she doesn’t know how any of it works is bolstered by the fact right now that _no one_ seems to know how Peter’s going to get well again. Maybe he _would_ have to undergo some kind of risky medical procedure to regain himself.

She can only hope it doesn’t come to that. The feeling of powerlessness won’t leave her. Michelle feels like she should be doing something, but everything here is so far beyond her there’d be no point. The last thing she wants to do is get in the way. 

_I’m always though damsels were lame but it occurs to me that I don’t have any way of fending for myself in this situation. I’ve never felt useless before and it’s embarrassing as hell_.

As if sensing her turmoil, Firefly stretches across her lap and reaches for her hand, pulling it to his head so she can scratch behind his ears. Even if Antonia’s commands were in jest, Michelle is still sure to call Firefly a good cat and a pretty cat. 

“For being new, you haven’t wasted any time making yourself at home,” Michelle tells him, realizing that the same thing could be said about _her_. It’s the middle of her second full day at the compound and she’s already spoiled by how informed and attentive F.R.I.D.A.Y. is, even if Michelle mostly uses her as a sentient search engine. The clothes Annie lent her are still strewn all over the place and her stack of books has kind of gotten out of hand. She’s still too keyed up to read and it bothers her immensely that she can’t do something that comes so naturally to her otherwise.

Michelle’s phone buzzes and she sees that it’s Ned. The day after Harry’s attack he left for Spring Break (because some people at Midtown actually have money) and Michelle initially wasn’t sure if he’d have service internationally. She contemplates what to tell him, since he’s obviously been talking to Peter or he wouldn’t have waited so long to see how she is. It certainly beats the radio silence from the rest of the Decathlon team.

There’s a moment of doubt as Michelle contemplates how to respond. Somehow “fine” seems curt and doesn’t quite ring true. Michelle settles on “I’m good” and hits send. It’s not completely a lie: a break from running Academic Decathlon and not having to worry about whether Peter will show up and how to handle Flash Thompson if he does or doesn’t is still a load off her mind. She’s kind of unintentionally traded that stress for something much worse, but it’s out of her control. A week sitting through the monotony of classes has been traded for the monotony of sitting around in a strange place. Besides awkward texts from her brother amounting to relief and confusion about where she keeps the peanut butter, she’s practically ensconced in a bubble.

So much has happened and she has so much on her mind she wants to share it with someone, but Michelle kind of only has one friend for all intents and purposes; the Decathlon team doesn’t count because she can’t really talk to any of them about much besides classes. She has no problem catching an indie film with them and they’re frequently grab a bite to eat after school, but it’s never been about getting to know them. It’s _convenient_.

Her lack of deeper connections with them isn’t caused by any deficiency on her part; Michelle knows she does a great job running the team, but that’s all she is to them—team captain. Michelle’s okay with that, except she can’t exactly call and ask Cindy Moon or Sally Avril for romantic advice, considering the kinds of questions she asks them on a regular basis are about economics and social science. There are no shared interests to really bond over, and not even Ned’s obsession with Spider-Man and friendship with Peter can somehow make him more vested in her opinions or passions. 

The fundamental difference between them is that Michelle and Ned look at Peter Parker and see very dissimilar things. Ned thinks Peter is heroic because of his powers and Michelle thinks Peter is heroic because of his character. Ned thinks she doesn’t like Spider-Man, and that’s not true—Spider-man is just a part of her friend Peter, not his defining feature. Being in this place is a reminder of how little she must really know him. Her narrow view of Peter Parker as Spider-Man has been turned on its head.

It sucks, because Michelle’s parents would have _loved_ Peter, she just knows it. Every day she wishes they could have met him. They would have adored his big heart and his kindness and the pure goodness that just sometimes poured out his smile. Michelle wouldn’t have felt like she had to explain herself or justify her crush on a nerdy white boy or feel inferior because she would never have the impact he did. When Michelle’s parents were alive, things made sense and she felt whole. 

She hasn’t thought about much about their deaths lately until her own possible demise was staring her down. Cars still make her a little uneasy but at least she wasn’t with them when it happened like Kevin was. It’s kind of strange, because it was a turning point for him—seeing them die made him turn to medicine, just like not being there when it happened made Michelle distance herself from the world. In the past two years especially she’s been surprised by how hard the world has tried to get her to rejoin it—to talk, to feel, to experience more than what she can find in a book. 

_There’s no such thing as a master plan. I’ve just been plunked in the middle of this place where everyone leads a busy life. There’s no one to look after me and truthfully I don’t need it, but what am I supposed to do with myself until Peter and I can safely leave? I don’t want to be an inconvenience._

The door chime sounds and Michelle is informed that Darcy Lewis is requesting entry. Michelle displaces a very angry cat so she can pull on a pair of Peter’s sweatpants so it looks like she accomplished at least one thing since she last saw Darcy. It takes her awhile to locate them (they’re strewn somewhere under Annie’s clothes) but they fit very comfortably as she makes her way to the door. The older woman appears to be completely fine with the fact it took Michelle thirty nine seconds to let her in.

“Hey, I brought you a few more books to add to your pile. Hope has a stash that I raided because she’s barely ever here. They’re mostly self-help or business-related. I also looked through some of Annie’s but almost everything was manga or engineering-related. The only one that looked okay was a poetry book by some dude named Hafiz.”

“Don’t the men in this place read books?” Michelle can’t help but ask as she takes the poetry book from Darcy, examining the cover for a moment before gently placing it on the stack of books Peter gave her.

“Um, probably not?” Darcy ventures. “Honestly, the only one I see reading is Peter.”

“Peter’s always staring at his phone or a computer screen when I see him,” Michelle grumbles. “I’ve never actually seen him pick up a paperback and if I didn’t know better I’d accuse him of illiteracy. Besides, shouldn’t he be training or off saving the world?”

“You’d be surprised by how much downtime these guys have. Thankfully the world isn’t always in crisis.”

Michelle thinks about all the weekends Peter spends away from her, all the half-days at school that turn into three-day-long absences. He’s gone more often than she likes—gone enough that the world had better fucking need him if he’s not free to be with his friends and family. It’s hard to imagine that he’s _reading_ of all things. 

“Sometimes when I look at him it just blows my mind that he fought Thanos,” Michelle says quietly. “He’s still essentially a high school kid. He worries about tests and grading and college but he also works side by side with Iron Man and Captain America.”

“A lot of Avengers feel very protective of him,” Darcy comments. “At first he liked the attention, but now I think it’s a little overwhelming for him.”

Peter is more than happy to have Tony Stark’s interest, because the man is practically a surrogate father at this point. But even May Parker’s well-meaning inquiries or Ned’s overeager concern are sometimes met with frustration. An entire group of teammates hovering would definitely smother him. 

It occurs to Michelle that while she’s always afraid Peter thinks she’s aloof, because she _is_ , she’s never gotten the impression that Peter necessarily thinks that about _her_. Peter always seeks her out when he’s upset but she lets him come to her when he’s ready. Michelle isn’t sure what he could possibly be getting out of it. She’s not really good at saying the right thing at the right time—it’s usually the exact opposite.

“Peter feels like his team thinks he can’t handle things when they keep asking if he’s okay,” Michelle admits, but it’s not something Darcy doesn’t already know.

“Pretty much everyone but Bruce, Steve, Vision, and Tony had or still have siblings and they’re probably projecting a little. I think it’s hard for them to break the habit. I hate to say it, but he’s always going to be a kid to them because they’re all at least ten years older than Peter.”

“I wish Peter would realize that concern is a good thing sometimes. It doesn’t mean anyone thinks less of his abilities. It just means that we care.”

Firefly approaches her again and bashes his face against her outstretched hand. Michelle rubs his head affectionately and spends a moment trying to politely phrase her next question before realizing that she’s just going to be blunt. “Darcy, you’re not an Avenger, so what do you do around here?”

Darcy crosses her ankles primly. “For awhile I followed Jane and Erik around like I did when I was in college, but after Thanos nearly destroyed the planet, Tony asked me to serve as the head of the fundraising and PR committee of the September Foundation. I organize events and galas to raise money. The secret is to get people to donate all the food and music and venues so that the charity itself doesn’t spend all of its own money. Tony said if anyone could squeeze blood from a stone, it would be me.”

“That sounds tiring,” Michelle admits. 

“It’s really fulfilling work, though, at the heart of it,” Darcy admits. “Tony mostly uses the September Foundation to fund grants. Our keynote speakers are often famous authors or teachers. A lot of guests are leading scientists and might not be famous to you or me, but they’re often leaders in the most cutting-edge tech. Tony’s filthy rich, but most of his money is tied up in either Stark Industries or the Avengers.” 

“I guess that makes a lot of sense,” Michelle agrees. “He’s a very busy man.”

“Yeah, but he’s been so good lately about making his appearances at these events. Everyone wants to see Iron Man, you know? There’s a gala in less than two weeks I’m organizing. You wouldn’t happen to want to attend by any chance, would you? You could go with Peter.”

“I already feel pretty out of place,” Michelle says stiffly, ignoring the glee in Darcy’s voice. 

“Girl, I watched aliens fall out of the sky in London. There were giant monsters and spaceships and I was just an unpaid intern running around with _my_ unpaid intern. But Jane is one of the most extraordinary people on the planet. She’s a motherfucking astrophysicist. My life is better for knowing her. She pulled me into this world and I managed to carve out a place in it. I’m not saying this life is in any way for you or that you’d want to be a part of this, but if you have an open mind or a sense of adventure or a thirst for knowledge, you should really get to know everyone here. Make the most of your situation and party with some superheroes. Please come!” 

“Well, I’ll think about it, I guess,” Michelle concedes, mentally adding, _I’ll think about saying_ no.

“You do know how to dance, right? It’s not something like that, is it? Because someone here can totally teach you how to dance.”

“I used to take dance lessons when I was little,” Michelle admits. “But it was jazz and hip-hop.”

Darcy switches tactics. “If you’re really against learning how, you can always come for the food. Truthfully, that’s my favorite part. Whatever you want me to get, I’ll make sure we have it for you if you come. Your call, you can have Kobe beef sliders and ahi tuna tacos and roasted almond brie chocolate crème brûlée and fried cheesecake.”

Michelle shrugs. “I prepare food for my brother and myself almost every night, but since Kevin has a digestive issue and gets sick pretty easily, I stick to really bland stuff like deli sandwiches. I don’t really think much about eating great food and I don’t know what half of those things are you just said.”

Darcy looks like Michelle’s just given her a dire medical diagnosis. “But _you_ can eat almost anything, right?”

“It’s kind of wasteful to spend the time and money to make two meals for two people every night, so I just settle for the lowest common denominator. I eat ham or turkey cold cuts every day for lunch and dinner. Sometimes I treat myself to Nutella.”

“You poor girl,” Darcy coos. “How long have you been living like this?”

“Since 2011.”

“Let me feed you,” Darcy insists. “We can start tonight. I want you to try new things, at least if you’re willing.”

Michelle considers if it’s taking advantage of someone if they’re making themselves freely available. She doesn’t normally meet people that are generous and open, but considers those are qualities that she admires very much in Peter and May Paker and recently, Antonia. Michelle wonders if she had an abundance of anything if she would behave similarly. Darcy is legitimately excited and it’s strange to find that people like this exist.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Michelle admits truthfully. “And I’m not here to be an inconvenience.”

“This will be fun,” Darcy says with a smile. “My grandmother was Pennsylvania Dutch, so I hope you can handle rich food. I am going to fatten you up!”

-

Darcy’s skepticism is matched by Firefly’s as they watch Darcy wield a rolling pin.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just use pie crust out of the freezer?”

“While I am all for trashy microwavable garbage from the frozen food aisle under certain circumstances, dishes made from scratch are totally more amazing and you need to experience more of them. Peter texted me and told me you barely ate anything yesterday.”

Trying not to think about how weird it is that her best friend texts random women about her, Michelle moves on. “So what exactly does Pennsylvania Dutch mean?”

“Oh, it refers to German immigrants that settled south central Pennsylvania back in the day. Their food is amazing. Heavy, caloric, indulgent, comforting…pretty much heaven. It’s where I grew up before I attended Culver. You said you liked gravy and starch so you’ll like at least 90% of it. I'm so happy; getting Jane to eat anything other than cereal was impossible. PA Dutch people love feeding others.”

Darcy is sprinkling flour onto the granite counter. She’s seen May cook like this sometimes (never with a high rate of success) and chefs on Food Network and has never understood the appeal. It’s time consuming to cook from scratch and ingredients are expensive. And even after rigorous cleaning, her apartment in Queens will never be clean enough that she’ll roll dough out on the countertop.

“Think you can handle slicing some carrots?” Darcy asks after a moment. 

Michelle blinks at her and Darcy patiently reveals the dimensions she wants and demonstrates the proper technique. Through careful mimicry, Michelle manages to slice carrots in what she hopes is an acceptable fashion. Darcy doesn’t even bother asking her if she can peel potatoes; she similarly performs the actions she wants Michelle to do, and Michelle executes her wordless order. It’s definitely more involved than making a turkey club for Kevin’s lunch, but it’s kind of neat. Michelle’s seen Peter cook loads of times and realizes this is a dish he makes with May, except she uses frozen pie crusts.

“Is this chicken pot pie?”

“Sure thing,” Darcy replies. “He said you like it, but the crust is the best part. Frozen just isn’t the same.”

“How many people are eating dinner here?” Michelle asks when she eyes the two dishes.

“Just you, me, and Peter,” Darcy informs her. “He eats a lot, though, and I wanted to be sure everyone had enough. Some of them have a mission but I think the rest of them are going out for dinner.”

“They didn’t invite Peter?”

“They did, and you as well, but he thought you might want something a little more laid back,” Darcy says. 

“Yeah, going out with them might be a little much,” Michelle agrees. “Peter’s really thoughtful sometimes. I guess it’s easy to overlook because he’s so distracted all the time. I’d normally joke and say he surprised me by cooking a very good brunch earlier, but he’s always been good at preparing food. He taught me how to make a tomato and cheese omelet and now that’s the only thing I can cook.”

Darcy smiles. “I taught him how to make that. He said he wanted a lesson because YouTube videos are boring. At first I thought he was asking because he wanted to make omelets for him and his aunt, but he later told me May doesn’t like eggs.”

“I _love_ eggs,” Michelle states, and the words are out of her mouth before she can think about the implications. Darcy’s eyebrows rise a millimeter but she kindly abstains from commenting. Michelle finishes with her potatoes in a daze. Before she knows it Darcy has placed the two pot pies in the oven and is working on cleaning up the counter.  
 _All I’m good for apparently is thinking about Peter Parker. I used to make fun of him for being like this, and now here I am._

Before she sees them, Michelle hears Sam traipsing down the hallway towards them with Peter right at his heels. They’re both covered in sweat and should theoretically look horrific, but after seeing Peter borderline sulky for the past few days he looks positively radiant with a healthy pink flush in his cheeks and a spring in his step. He always holds back in gym class so he doesn’t attract attention, but he looks like he just had the workout of his life. It’s not a look Michelle sees on him often. 

“Hey, that smells awesome,” Sam announces, rubbing his hands together as he eyes the oven.

“Too bad you’re leaving on a mission and can’t eat any of it,” Peter taunts. “More for me. Think about all the home-cooked food I’ll be enjoying as you eat MREs.”

“Punk,” Sam mutters, swinging his gym bag abruptly and hitting Peter. It doesn’t have the devastating effect Michelle fears, and Peter merely rubs his arm absently, more for show than out of pain.

“I’m technically on medical leave, you know,” Peter grumbles.

“You just ran ten miles with zero difficulty, Peter. You’re not exactly on your deathbed. I should tell Hill you can roll out with us.”

“Avengers business only,” Peter says delicately. “I don’t work for S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Sam says with a shrug, but seems to find Peter’s reasoning acceptable. With one last longing look at the oven, he waves goodbye. 

“Didn’t he just get back?” Michelle asks.

“Yep,” Darcy pops the “p” in her reply. “Steve, Natasha, and Bucky are going with him. Clint would be going too, if he weren’t already on assignment, at least according to what Sam texted me earlier.”

Michelle is curious. “What about the other Avengers? Do they ever go out on S.H.I.E.L.D. business?”

“Scott isn’t a good fit for S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hope is too busy with Pym Technologies. Thor and Stephen Strange spend a lot of time off-planet or in other dimensions. Carol and Rhodey have military stuff that takes up all their time. Tony, Bruce, Vision, and Wanda have no interest in deploying with S.H.I.E.L.D. and ever since the Infinity Gauntlet brought Pietro back to life, I don’t think he’s had much of an interest in _anything_.”

Peter says the last part nonchalantly, but Michelle can tell it’s an act. Thanos is still one thing that Peter will not tell her about. She tries not to let it bother her—saving the world is so much bigger than hurt feelings. But she’s intensely curious about what he saw or did or felt in those hopeless moments when he thought the world would end. He was much worse after Gwen’s death than the battle with Thanos, and Michelle doesn’t think she’s being mean when she says the stakes for the latter were higher. She wonders how he could have possibly come back from that as seemingly unscathed by comparison.

There are a few minutes of comfortable silence as they wait for the pot pies to finish cooking. Apparently hot food needs to _rest_ before being cut into (which Michelle thinks is bullshit) and Peter is practically thrumming with impatience across the kitchen island. Darcy cuts a modest piece for herself and opens a bottle of chardonnay. 

“Is this going to be a thing with you?” Michelle asks after a glass of wine is pushed beside her plate. “Don’t you feel like you’re a corrupting influence since we’re only eighteen?”

“I’m giving you a lesson on class so when you go to college you’re not a tool buying Mad Dog or Boone’s Farm because you think it tastes good,” Darcy informs her. “I’m not trying to get you kids wasted, jeez.”

“What’s Mad Dog?”

“Literally the worst,” Darcy snaps. “They’re referred to as bum wines for a reason, and that’s all you need to know, although Boone’s Farm might not actually have enough alcohol to be considered one. I’m trying to prevent people from judging you when you’re at Harvard.”

“How’d you know I’m going to Harvard?”

Darcy’s head swivels to Peter and she spreads her arms dramatically. 

_Oh_. 

“Peter is so pumped his bestie got into Harvard, isn't he?” Darcy crows excitedly. 

Michelle is almost indignant; she _knows_ that she’s Peter’s second best friend; she wouldn’t dare line jump Ned Leeds. “But Ned’s going to MIT.”

Peter stares pointedly at Darcy and something passes between them before she pushes a glass of chardonnay at him. 

“I’ve got a season of Scandal to catch up on, so I’m leaving you two kids to finish cleaning up my mess,” Darcy announces suddenly, taking a giant swig out of the bottle. “It’s only fair you two get dish duty; I did make the food after all.”

Peter and Michelle nod in tandem before Peter smiles. “Yeah, we got it.”

-

Michelle and Peter do not get it—as soon as Darcy retreats down the hall, Peter grabs his food and motions for Michelle to grab hers. They wind up in the biggest common room in existence; Kevin used to watch MTV Cribs when she was very young and none of them had living rooms that matched this level of opulence. The television screen is taller than a person and the sectional couch is large enough for the entire Decathlon team. There’s a beautiful grand piano by the window—the kind of thing Michelle’s seen in movies but never in real life up close.

“So, what did you want to watch?”

“I assume Stark has everything, ever,” Michelle intones dryly. 

“Well, yeah,” Peter’s smirk falls when she realizes where she’s going with this A year and a half of hanging out with her has made him well acquainted with her tastes. “Except we’re not watching _Star Trek_ , MJ.”

“Peter!”

“I have spoken. We have a rule, remember?”

Michelle huffs. He’s right; they’re each allowed a preemptive veto when the other one is picking out a movie to watch. She usually picks Star Wars and he usually picks Star Trek, which means they hardly ever get to watch it with the other.

“Fine, then we’re watching the first prequel movie from Star Wars.” Michelle can handle a pyrrhic victory in the form of Jar Jar Binks, if only to watch Peter’s decimation at the hands of a CGI alien buffoon.

“Wait!” Peter practically knocks over his glass in his haste to recant. “We can watch anything but the prequel trilogy. _Even Star Trek_.”

Michelle cackles, seizing the remote from Peter’s hand. The interface is unfamiliar but she manages to queue up her favorite non-serious episode. 

Peter frowns. “Can we watch a different one, MJ? You’ve made me watch this one _three times_ with you so you could laugh at that stupid fight scene. There are actually good episodes of this show. I can admit that now. I don’t want to watch Kirk fight the guy in the lizard suit again.”

“It’s my favorite,” Michelle claims.

“No, your favorite is the one where they go back in time,” Peter insists. “The one with the halfway house and the bad disguises.”

Michelle rolls her eyes. _The City on the Edge of Forever_ is a masterpiece and _that’s_ what he remembers? Unbelievable.

“We’re watching the one with the Gorn, unless you want to watch the one with the tribbles.”

Peter groans. “Fine, the lizard suit guy is better than the tribbles.”

“Did you want to watch _The City on the Edge of Forever_? I mean, it’s kind of sad, Peter.”

“Maybe we can watch the one with the Mudd guy? I like your commentary on that one.”

Harry Mudd offends every single one of her feminist sensibilities and she admittedly bitches the whole time about how he’s a sexist prick. But she frequently bitches about how many men are sexist pricks, real or fictional. She’s not sure why he remembers that particular time.

Peter starts the episode and Michelle takes her first bite of food. It’s _heavenly_. The crust is buttery and melts in her mouth. Darcy is an amazing cook—better than May by leaps and bounds, her only source of home-cooked dinners. She feels almost guilty for thinking it, but it’s _true_. Peter would never openly admit to such an ungracious thought while Michelle is thinking how hard going back to eating frozen pie crusts will be.

“This is fantastic,” Michelle tells Peter emphatically. “Does Darcy eat like this every day?”

“I don’t know about that, but she texted me that she was super excited to cook for you this week, so _you’re_ probably in good shape. Darcy’s parents were out of town a lot when she was a teenager and she used to make dinner every night for her brother and sister. They both live on the West Coast now, so she doesn’t see them much.”

“Well, Kevin and I live in the same house and she probably spends more quality time with hers than I do with mine.”

Peter gives her a commiserating glance. Michelle looks over and sees that he’s almost halfway through an _entire_ pie. She knows with certainty that he’ll finish it, too. She should be grossed out sitting so close to Peter, who’s inhaling his food and still hasn’t showered, but he only smells of freshly cut grass. He must have been running with Sam outdoors.

Harry Mudd finally appears onscreen, but Michelle’s heart isn’t quite into tearing his characterization to pieces. She realizes that she talks more around Peter than she does any other person. It’s so strange. She never used to be the one talking—when they first started spending lots of time together, he would talk and she would listen. Now it’s the opposite, and Michelle wonders how much she gives away of herself in the process. 

They finish eating in silence, their shared company completely devoid of their typical banter. It’s not really an awkward stretch, but something really is different than before and for once she’s aware of the second it changes. As Michelle curls a chenille throw around her legs, she meets his eyes and pauses. She can read a hundred different things in his expression, but what she sees more than anything is concern, and it pulls honesty out of her kicking and screaming.

“I’m sorry if you hate being stuck here with me,” Michelle says out of the blue. 

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

Peter blinks, clearly not expecting her to say that. The television show plays on in the background, completely forgotten, as he attempts to form a response. “Um, don’t take this the wrong way, but I guess if I had to be in this situation with anyone in the world, I’d prefer it to be you.”

Michelle nearly gets whiplash. “Huh?”

“I mean, May would be worrying nonstop and probably berate me—she knows it wouldn’t really be my fault but when she’s afraid I’ll get hurt she kinda takes it out on me—she can’t seem to help it. And Ned would be following me around trying to get into restricted areas or grilling the Avengers with countless questions. The only bad thing about spending time with you is that I’m never sure when I’ll have to stop. For once I don’t have to worry about running off and leaving you because of the Avengers—I’m already here with them. Plus I’ve always wanted for you to meet my team. The situation isn’t ideal, but I really don’t _hate_ it.” 

It’s classic Peter, kind of rambling and over-sharing and earnest. Michelle decides to selfishly press her luck. “So, if I told you I’d like to hang out with you every day until we can leave, you wouldn’t get sick of me?”

“Everyone is already busy running around, so it’d be nice to have someone to spend time with. I’ll do almost anything you want, except watch more _Star Trek_. 

Michelle rolls her eyes and grabs the remote. The episode is over, which means it’s technically Peter’s turn to pick something. She can still feel the slight buzz of the alcohol but it’s very mild and rather pleasant. They’re huddled together, even though there’s enough space on each end of the couch for a basketball team. She never thought she’d find a part of this giant compound to be _cozy_.

“Do you mind if I watch _Futurama_?” 

“That’s fine, just don’t pick any sad ones,” Michelle requests. 

“Bossy,” Peter complains, but it’s muttered fondly. 

“I’ll tell Tony you made me cry.”

“I’m not sure if he believes you capable of producing tears.”

“Did you know that rabbits have no tear ducts?”

“ _MJ_.”

“It’s true! Check the internet if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you. You’d never lie to me, especially not to win an argument. You like being right too much.”

“I usually am, though, it’s like my default.”

Peter rolls his eyes and steals her blanket. The ensuing argument ensures they miss the first six minutes of the episode he picks, but after that they quiet down and pay attention. Michelle remembers her famous ill-fated words in front of the Academic Decathlon team that cartoons were stupid, which lead to being bombarded by demands to watch anime, nineties cartoons, and Adult Swim. She will never enjoy _Rick and Morty_ but does have a healthy respect for Miyazaki films. _Futurama_ was Peter’s pick for her to watch, and by far the most time-consuming, but it’s a weirdly sweet show when it wants to be. She’s trying not to draw too many comparisons to sweet and dopey Fry and emotionally constipated Leela pining after each other. 

True to her request, Peter picks funny episodes that don’t tug on heart strings or include dogs waiting faithfully for their masters to return (not that shit like that makes Michelle want to cry or anything). They must be at it for hours, and Michelle almost feels guilty until she realizes that there are no obligations keeping them from staying up all night and doing just what they’re doing. Michelle positions herself comfortably against his side and tries to fall asleep, praying Peter doesn’t have another nightmare this far away from the lab. She’s hoping he got it out of his system.

The last thing Michelle hears is the distant sound of Fry struggling to play the holophonor. She thinks it's nice that Fry got his happy ending and wonders if she can dare hope for one of her own.


	7. He Will Not Try to Be Just What She Wants

When Peter’s nightmare hits this time, Michelle knows it.

Jarred from sleep when she feels Peter’s arms tighten around her painfully, Michelle manages to wake him with a sharp tug to his hair. He knocks her off the couch reflexively upon waking so suddenly and Michelle crashes into the coffee table. Her wristwatch takes the brunt of it, but she can’t help but rub her arm absently as she watches him thrash in agony. Harry’s compound punishes his body but she doesn’t dare reach for his hand when he’s squeezing his fists so tight her bones would be ground into dust.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., is anyone here at the compound right now that can help me get him to the medical bay?”

“Pietro and Wanda Maximoff are on site. The Vision is also on the premises, as is Stephen Strange.”

Michelle’s mind supplies the phrase _murder twins_ to describe the Maximoffs, which isn’t especially fair, but she’s heard Peter mention that Wanda was partially complicit in the destruction of Johannesburg via the Hulk and the idea of an encounter makes Michelle uncomfortable. She’s not sure if she wants to meet a volatile psychic and her formerly dead brother with Peter in his current condition and thinks that’s certainly fair. She’d rather not broadcast Peter’s weakness in front of someone with Wanda’s particular skill set and decides against summoning The Vision for that reason as well.

“Can you ask Stephen Strange to help us?” 

“I am contacting Doctor Strange on your behalf.”

Michelle sighs in relief and nearly has a heart attack when the sorcerer materializes through a portal in the ceiling less than five feet away from where she’s standing. Peter’s mentioned the teleporting, which is kind of nifty but also terrifying. Michelle bets it’s a real time saver.

Stephen’s pale eyes are disquieting. The fact he can do fucking _magic_ is also disquieting, but it’s kind of why Michelle called for his help. He’s honest-to-God _hovering_ above the floor and is wearing a cape. He’s a literal magician wearing and using magical objects, and Hogwarts-level shit is a lot to take in.

“Can I be of assistance, Miss Jones?”

“Can you help me move him, please?” 

With a grave nod, Stephen phases through a new portal in the floor with Peter in his arms. It’s almost eerie, watching a ring of hazy gold magic disappear and the two of them along with it.

Realizing that in lieu of magic powers she has to physically walk down to medical, Michelle tries to calm her racing heart on the way there. She takes deep breaths and tries not to sprint after them. It’s the middle of the night and poor Peter can’t go more than a few hours without getting his life all fucked up and hers right along with it. Her phone is still upstairs and Michelle looks at her wrist only to realize the crystal of her watch is broken and she can’t tell what time it is. 

_Peter’s going to be upset if he sees what he did_ , Michelle realizes. She tears off her watch and shoves it into the pocket of the sweatpants she’s wearing and tries to shake out some of the soreness of her arm. It’s not a bad injury but reminders of how fucking strong Peter Parker really is still throw her for a loop. That he could kill her without even realizing it always fills her with dread. She’s not scared, per se, but she needs to be more cautious than she has been. She still has injuries from being attacked in the library and isn’t anxious to make them worse.

Michelle doesn’t know why after everything he’s been through, the nightmares are starting _now_. After Gwen’s death and after fighting Thanos, Peter didn’t seem to having anywhere close to his current problem with sleeping through the night. She wonders if it’s related to whatever it was he was drugged with somehow.

An Asian woman Michelle has never met awaits her in the medical bay along with Stephen Strange. The latter approaches her and Michelle can’t help but admire how his sentient cape billows even when his feet touch the ground(Peter is huge into science but he and Annie both think magic is cool, an opinion definitely not shared by Tony Stark or Bruce Banner, from what she hears). 

“Miss Jones, my name is Stephen Strange.”

“Sorcerer Supreme, right?” Michelle is really impressed she says this without laughing. She’d rather call him that than _Doctor Strange_ , because for some reason she likes the title that sounds like a sandwich special more than the name that sounds like a _James Bond_ villain.

“Yes. And this is Doctor Helen Cho.”

Michelle gives her a watery smile and receives a small wave. “Do you mind if I wait with him until I know he’s okay?”

“Of course,” Helen replies. She seems politely sympathetic but very businesslike as she turns away to resume her work. 

“Doctor Cho informs me that Peter’s vitals are back under control. She sedated him for the time being to prevent a recurrence.”

Immediately Michelle envisions Peter waking suddenly and freaking out when he sees her, and thinks maybe that’s for the best. She knows Stephen Strange used to be a surgeon (the Avengers compound seems to collect a lot of superheroes with doctorates) and in his former prime would be great help in fixing Peter’s current ailment. But he’s clearly left that life behind, if not the title.   
“How long will he be out for?” Michelle asks. Reflexively she glances at her wrist and remembers her broken watch. She gasps as she feels it tugged out of her pocket by motherfucking _magic_. It stays suspended in the air for a moment by gold tendrils. She watches in fascination as the glass mends right before her eyes with a wave of his large hand.

_Holy shit, that must be handy_ , Michelle thinks, remembering all the things she’s dropped and broken in the last month or so alone. She straps it back on her wrist. “Thank you.”

Stephen smiles, looking more pained than happy. “I noticed it was shattered when we were upstairs. The Eye of Agamotto makes this an easy task. I made sure to reclaim it when the gauntlet was dismantled.”

_The man has a freaking Infinity Stone and uses it to fix a wristwatch_ , Michelle scoffs. “Annie joked you could teleport her all the way to New York City. Is that true?”

Stephen nods. “It would be a small feat for any Master. I don’t even need the Eye for that.”

“So I guess you don’t need to use cars or planes anymore.”

“That is correct,” Stephen answers. He examines the medical charts that Bruce and Antonia were working on the previous day. 

“I hope I didn’t interrupt you in the middle of anything important,” Michelle says somewhat truthfully after a moment. She’s curious about what insights he might have. 

“Nothing urgent,” Stephen assures her. “I was studying some ancient texts that might aid Miss Maximoff in controlling her powers. Abilities granted by an Infinity Stone are fickle things and will never be one hundred percent under control, at least abilities granted by small-minded scientists working for Hydra. Perhaps that is why her brother is having trouble adjusting to being alive once more; he too owes his resurrection to one of them.”

Michelle hums in agreement like she knows what he’s talking about. Peter’s abilities were granted via a different route but no less outlandish. “Can you do anything to help Peter?”

“Since Mr. Osborne used science to manufacture this malady, it’s easier to combat it using the same methods,” Stephen replies. “I’m sure modern medicine is up to the task. Magic can be…imprecise whereas science is a little less risky. I might exacerbate his condition if I intervene.”

“That's a 'no,' then?”

“Quite.”

Stephen seems in no hurry to leave, which strikes her as unusual. Peter always says Strange is abrupt and capricious, yet here he is, seemingly more invested in Peter’s condition than Michelle would have considered possible. Kevin worked with him at Metro-General and had a very low opinion of the man’s sense of compassion. 

“I may not be able to fix the root of the problem, but I can, however…” 

Michelle watches with fascination as his hands begin to glow. She knows Strange would never _hurt_ Peter, but the idea of a _magician_ waving his hands around and creating actual magic will never not be weird. She watches as some of the tension ebbs away from Peter’s sleeping face.

“I’m taking the edge off of his nightmares,” Stephen informs her, magic still thrumming in the air. It makes the hair on her arms stand up. “It should help him over the next few days at least, if you want to continue sleeping by his side.”

Opening her mouth automatically for a rebuttal, Michelle finds nothing there she wants to refute. She _likes_ sleeping next to Peter and wants to do it safely. If it takes a sorcerer casting a little magic on Peter’s mind a bit without his permission, is she allowed her gratitude? This is a question she never thought she’d have to ponder. 

“Miss Jones, have you been suffering from any bad dreams since arriving here? I can perform the same service for you.”

“On and off,” Michelle admits. "And I'll pass, thanks."

“And you’re sure you don’t have any magical abilities?”

“I’m completely sure,” Michelle insists. “Why do you ask?”

“You have a very slight hint of magical residue.” Stephen informs her. His expression is neutral. “No one else here would be able to detect it. I doubt even Miss Maximoff could detect it.”

“I don’t know what you’re picking up on, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t been in contact with anyone magical until now. Harry Osborn isn’t a wizard, and no, I don’t have any secret magic powers. ”

Michelle looks up and catches Helen’s mildly approving gaze. She gets the feeling that Doctor Cho is impressed she told Stephen what’s what. Michelle certainly doesn’t need any more complications. It’s bad enough that a sorcerer has to try and patch up her friend...even if magic is kind of neat and terrifying.

“Do you miss being a medical doctor?” Michelle asks curiously after a moment. The hum of magic is soothing; the energy warm as it crackles mere inches away.

“In some ways I miss it,” Stephen admits. 

“My brother works at Metro-General,” Michelle says vaguely and waits to see if he reacts. 

Stephen blinks. “It’s a big hospital.”

“It is.”

“I’ve worked with him before, haven’t I?”

“You actually scrubbed in with him for a year, but Kevin’s just starting his trauma fellowship so he would have still been in the middle of his surgical residency when you worked there. Honestly, he would have barely been a blip on your radar.”

There’s no condemnation in her voice, and Stephen seems to hold that lack of judgment in high esteem. “As a surgeon, I had very little regard for my fellow doctors or the patients I treated. I used my profession to help myself, not others. I had to fall very low to reach the point where I was willing to start fresh. The work I’m doing now suits me better, I think.”

To Michelle’s faint disappointment, whatever treatment Stephen had been using on Peter seems to be at an end. The golden swirls of magic dissipate into thin air.

“Have you ever seen anything like Peter’s condition before?”

“I haven’t, but be glad it was not caused by magic. Finding a cure for spells is much harder than it sounds. So is being Sorcerer Supreme.”

“That doesn’t exactly sound like it would be easy,” Michelle offers. “Magic sounds really unpredictable and complicated. Do you remember that scene in _The Incredibles_ where Edna Mode says capes are a bad idea in a superhero costume? Does yours ever get stuck in anything? Peter says it's alive and he wants to know.”

The ends of Stephen’s mouth quirk. “My cape does its best to protect me, but it has a mind of its own and takes issue with some of my choices. It thinks it knows better than I do and I earn a lot of injuries when we disagree.”

Michelle nods gravely. “Ouch.”

“Peter will likely be asleep until mid-morning. I was going to make a cup of tea before I turned in for the night. Would you like some?”

“Sure,” Michelle replies. She glances over at Doctor Cho. The woman is busily typing notes onto a tablet but can definitely hear every word they’re saying. “Aren’t you going to ask her if she wants any?”

“Helen prefers to drink water while she’s working. She’s also not a fan of Stark’s AI, so she prefers to manually type up her work instead of relying on F.R.I.D.A.Y. to take dictation, in case you were wondering.”

Stephen waves his hand at one of Annie’s mugs and it’s instantly full of fragrant, steaming tea. He hands it to her and while Michelle manages not to drop it, she also wonders _how the hell does magic work_ because does the tea come from another dimension? Are there missing tea leaves from Annie’s stash and eight fluid ounces of water missing from the tap or can it just be regenerated somehow? Can he conjure up any kind of tea ever or just certain kinds? 

“I did not mean to alarm you, Miss Jones.”

“I’m not alarmed,” Michelle attempts to contradict him, but her voice is rising in pitch. "It's just...is this safe to drink? I've never had magical tea before. Where does it come from? How does it get here? Whose tea amd I drinking?"

It’s a combination of being really too early or really too late to deal with _magic_ of all things. As if sensing her train of thought, Stephen gives her a sympathetic grimace and activates his sling ring. 

“Goodnight, Miss Jones. Peter will be okay in the morning.”

Before she can question him, Michelle finds herself standing in the hallway outside her bedroom. All the breath in her body leaves her in a long exhale, sloshing her tea over the edge of the brim and burning her hand. She opens her door to find that Firefly has somehow made his way back to her room—he’d fallen asleep by them the night before—and sits her mug of tea by her bedside untouched. 

Michelle is exhausted but it takes her ages to feel drowsy. Her mind races with thoughts of Peter. The last thing she remembers thinking before finally succumbing to sleep is that she’d like to have a normal night and a normal day, thank you very much. She’s thankful there are no nightmares or dreams awaiting her.

-

“MJ, it’s past noon. You should really get up.”

Michelle registers Peter’s voice and cracks an eye open to see that her best friend looks completely unaffected by the events of the previous night. While that’s all well and good for him, she is feeling even more sore and stiff than she thought possible. She accidentally fell asleep in her bra _and_ wristwatch and the bruises she’s collected in the past few days are all catching up with her at once. Lying in bed all day seems like a wonderful idea.

“Are you sure you should be up and about?” 

An expression flickers across Peter’s face before he tacks on a smile for her benefit. “I’m good. The effects don’t last too long when they hit, thankfully.”

“You’re so perky right now I’d be sickened under normal circumstances. But right now I’m just relieved you’re okay.”

Peter’s eyes crinkle when he smiles, shy and sincere. “You’re the sweetest, MJ.”

Michelle rolls her eyes but says nothing, enjoying any positivity coming from him at all given the circumstances. It’s the closest he’s been to his normal self since they’ve arrived.

Peter plops down on the bed a safe distance from Firefly, who has commandeered one of her pillows. “So what did you want to do today, MJ?”

“What are my options besides reading?” Michelle asks, because she kind of wants to save up the reading for when she’s alone and he’s off training.

“I figured you were getting a little stir crazy in here. There’s an Olympic-sized pool and a cross-country course through the woods if you want to work out. I know you hate exercising in gym class, but you’d have more privacy here and I won’t tell anyone you actually _like_ it.”

“I don’t think I can handle the neon pink and sparkly monokini that Annie left for me, so swimming is probably out.”

“Well you might have another option,” Peter suggests, pointing to an enormous box in the corner of her room. “Your order has arrived.”

Michelle has completely forgotten about the stuff Tony said F.R.I.D.A.Y. would order until this moment. She’s one hundred percent sure she doesn’t want to know how it got into her bedroom while she was asleep. “I’m pretty sure between that stuff and what Annie donated to me there are enough clothes in this room to last me until I’m twenty five.”

“Don’t you at least want to see what’s inside?”

Peter seems oddly apprehensive she but Michelle quickly forgets about it when she approaches the package. It’s about the size of a refrigerator box, Jesus. She opens it and sorts through the contents, trying to figure out why there are so many _things_ in it. She sinks her arms into the sea of garments up to her elbows.

“So how did an AI pick out my clothes?” Michelle wonders aloud, lifting articles of clothing from the box wrapped in clear plastic wrap. “Did it know my preferences or did it just assume I wanted to be dressed like every other eighteen year old girl? Because signs point to the latter, I’m just saying.”

“Don’t you like them?” Peter asks, raising an eyebrow when she gingerly unpacks a black lace and cotton paneled bodysuit. Part of her wants to be appalled at the frivolity of someone spending money on her like this, but part of her thinks that some of these things are _pretty_. She doesn’t own any clothes that would break Midtown’s dress code because she can’t afford to. School is usually the only place she goes anyway. 

“It’s not that,” Michelle muses, holding out a sleeve of a pink and burgundy plaid shirt to test its length. The bodysuit might actually look kind of edgy underneath. “I’m just a little overwhelmed at the moment. None of the clothes Annie lent me had sleeves or pant legs, so I don’t even know if it any of this new stuff will fit. Hemlines being too short are the bane of my existence, sometimes.”

“It’s because you’re a giraffe,” Peter mutters, ducking the green plaid shirt she chucks at his head. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s pretty good at vetting that kind of thing, though. She orders the clothes I keep here and nothing has ever fit poorly.”

“And does she order you clothes that look like this?” Michelle asks, holding up a blush colored silk blouse. 

“Uh, not quite,” Peter replies. Almost hesitantly, he asks, “Do you hate everything? We can get you new clothes if you want.”

“I actually don’t hate anything I’ve seen so far, but it’d take ages to go through everything. I mean, I just never buy clothes like this. I dressed up for a couple school dances and when I interviewed for my summer job, but that’s it. No need, really, because I didn’t have anywhere to be. But it’s Monday afternoon of my Spring Break, so I guess I can wear whatever I want to. Speaking of which…”

Michelle finally finds a bathing suit and to her relief it’s not pink or holographic. It’s a simple yellow two-piece that’s a nice balance between modest and flattering. It’s not the ideal thing to wear to swim laps in a pool, but overall it’s more age appropriate than a one-piece. There are no beads or grommets or excessive straps or ruffles; it’s simple and it’s a color she likes. Michelle’s only gone swimming a handful of times; the last time was back in Washington, DC with the Decathlon team during her sophomore year. Peter’s never seen her in a swimsuit before and she’s trying not to geek out.

“I guess I can go swimming, if you really want to,” Michelle suggests carefully. 

“I mean, yeah,” Peter attempts to be casual. 

Michelle picks up on his caginess right away. “You’re not doing this to show off, are you?”

Peter’s eyes practically bug out of his head. “ _What_ are you talking about?”

Michelle kind of wants to die, because she can’t really talk herself out of this one. “You know…because you’re really fit.”

Peter’s immediate reaction is incredulous. “I think you’re the last person in the world I could impress with my _body_ , MJ.” 

_If you only knew_ , Michelle thinks wistfully. She laughs, trying to play it cool. “You’re the fittest member of the Decathlon team at any rate.”

“That’s saying a lot, because we’re an athletic club and all.”

Michelle rolls her eyes. “Just go put your swimsuit on, loser, and meet me back here when you’re done. I’m going to change.”

-

“Peter, I’m not sure this is going to work,” Michelle calls out to him from her bathroom. She can’t keep stalling any longer and Peter’s been waiting for ages—patiently, for him.

“Is something wrong with the suit or something? You’ve been in there forever.”

“Um…”

Michelle can’t help but stare in horror at her reflection, which she’s been steadfastly avoiding since she’s arrived at the facility. The swelling of her face is admittedly rough, but it’s the bruises on her back and sides that stop her in her tracks. She hasn’t noticed them on the way to the shower because she normally doesn’t take the time to look at herself naked in the mirror before she bathes, but she sure as hell is noticing them now with only a few yellow fabric triangles draped over her skin. Large swathes of flesh are blue-black and vivid purple. She was in a fight and she damn well looks like it.

“MJ, are you seriously okay?” Peter barges into the bathroom, which she’d normally be unwilling to forgive except for the fact that making him wait outside for thirty minutes without telling him what was wrong is also kind of shitty. He’s standing in her doorway in swim trunks and looks unfairly gorgeous while her back looks like a bruised peach.

“Peter—!”

“ _Christ_ , MJ.”

Moving towards her, Peter gently lays a hand on her shoulder and rubs his palm up and down her unmarked arm. He hesitates and Michelle silently lifts her arms and turns around so he can examine her back. It’s not dissimilar to the many times she’s studied his injuries—the only difference is that Michelle knows she’ll look like this for almost a week before green and yellow start to creep in. Then she’ll spend the next month wearing ugly bruises down her ribs and back. Peter’s bruises from his altercation with Harry are already gone—thirty six hours is his standard and he hit that mark a full day ago. Michelle’s never had to pay attention to the disparity before.

A shaky breath escapes Michelle when she feels his fingertips skim her back and ribs. Peter’s touch is reverent and he’s avoiding the worst-looking areas, but it mirrors the many times she’s traced her hands over his battle injuries. He’s achingly gentle and she had _no idea_ her skin was so goddamn sensitive—was she doing this to him all that time? Her heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of her chest by the time her spins her around again so they’re facing each other. 

“Are you in a lot of pain, MJ?”

“Annie gave me something that works well for that, but I don’t think there’s anything that can fix all _this_.” Michelle lowers her arms and Peter grasps her hands, but manages to gesture to her back without breaking their grip. “I’m pretty glad we’re not out in public right now. I look gross.”

Peter grins at her, shy and crooked. “You’re still the prettiest member of the Decathlon team.”

“You’d get more points if you said I was the smartest one,” Michelle tells him, nudging his ankle with her bare foot in retaliation for mirroring her previous comment about him.

“You can be smart and pretty,” Peter tells her, holding her gaze for too long. “You are both.”

“You don’t have to tell me that to make me feel better,” Michelle pleads, trying to unlink their fingers and twist away.

“I’m really not,” Peter mumbles, glancing away but refusing to let go of her hands.

“I mean…just look at me. I’m pretty hideous right now.”

“MJ…not even covered in bruises would I think of you that way,” Peter says quietly, hands still holding hers and using them to pull her arms away from her body. His eyes meet hers and Michelle tries to stamp out the feeling of butterflies in her stomach because he looks like he means it. She doesn’t believe him, but she’s thankful anyway.

“We’re dressed up in bathing suits and I’m not keen on anyone else seeing me like this. We should probably change and do something else instead.”

“I think enough time has passed that a hot tub might be okay, if you’d rather do that. It would be more private. I’ve never seen anyone use it at this hour.”

“I was wondering when it was safe to have hot showers and baths and kept forgetting to ask F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“I already asked her—you’re good now, MJ,” Peter informs her. He grabs their towels and heads towards the door. 

“I’m kinda hungry, though.”

“We can eat when we’re done,” Peter suggests. Michelle can’t help but notice the direction they’re heading in is not the common kitchen. “Darcy told me lunch won’t be ready for at least an hour. She got a late start.”

“Do you text Darcy a lot?”

“Usually just when she’s staying over, so we can eat together,” Peter muses. “She’s a good cook and I don’t go hungry when she’s around. She’s about ten steps up from commissary food. Plus I enjoy her obscure white hipster music. Everyone else makes fun of me for liking it.”

Michelle rolls her eyes at him. “You _would_ like obscure white hipster music.”

“Hey, it’s different from what everyone else listens to in school. There’s nothing wrong with rap music, but anything gets old if you hear it all the time. Variety is nice, different is nice, obscure is nice. You of all people should be able to appreciate that.”

“I’d appreciate it more if some of it was good,” Michelle counters. She narrows his eyes when she sees Peter typing on his phone. “Wait, are you telling her I said that? Don’t tell her I insulted her music, Peter.”

“Too late.”

“She’s never going to make me food again.”

“She will, but now you’re going to have to listen to her music. Expect a playlist by the end of the day.”

“ _Peter!_ ”

“Whatever happened to having an open mind?”

At Peter’s smug expression, Michelle gives him a shove. Asshole. They round another corner and after an elevator ride they’ve reached their destination. It’s on the same floor as the medical lab.

“So when you mentioned there was a hot tub, I guess I was expecting something sleazier,” Michelle admits, eyeing the rather austere facility. 

“Tony’s not really into seducing supermodels anymore. This is closer to the setup athletic teams have in their locker rooms for training injuries.”

“You heal so fast…do you really need to use stuff like this?”

“Not usually, but they’re relaxing to be in. Not everyone on the team is enhanced.”

Michelle dips her hand into the pleasantly hot water. “Are you sure that you and Tony don’t secretly hang out here with supermodels? I mean, it’s probably one of the perks of being a superhero.”

“Why would I want to hang out with supermodels?”

“Isn’t that what all teenage boys want to do?”

“Maybe if they went to MIT or CalTech,” Peter muses. “I prefer my models to have a master’s degree, minimum.”

“Smart _and_ beautiful; I never expected your standards to be so high,” Michelle teases, although she _knows_ that they are. She’s met Liz and Gwen—they’re definitely in a class of their own.

“Oh, they have to be courageous, too,” Peter informs her solemnly.

“Like, superheroes, you mean?” Michelle’s voice is practically a squeak and she never thought of that—maybe Peter is only interested in women like Natasha Romanov or Hope Van Dyne—women that are physically powerful and professionally established and blisteringly hot. It’s a sobering thought.

“I meant like the people that go out and fight for the little guy without super powers or high-tech weapons. People like public defenders and environmental scientists. There are plenty of people with lots of money and power that just don’t care. I think it’s amazing that there are people that always want to help. You can be completely ordinary but still do extraordinary things.”

Michelle thinks of her parents, social workers with barely any money but endless love and heart. She thinks of her desire to major in investigative journalism—a passion she’s shared with Peter countless times. It’s never going to be a financially rewarding occupation and it might even be dangerous, but she’s still a fighter in her own way and it’s gratifying that Peter recognizes the contributions of non-powered people.

_If I don’t climb into this hot tub immediately, I might burst into tears. Goddamn it, Peter; stop being so perfect._

Michelle is up to her thighs in the hot water before glancing over at Peter. She sees the ideal opportunity to steer the conversation away from topics that make her feel things. “You’re getting a little scruffy there, Peter.”

In a careless motion that Michelle can’t stop following with her eyes, Peter drags his fingertips across his chin. “I haven’t shaved since a few days before I got here.”

“Hmm, neither have I," Michelle intones dryly as she takes a seat opposite him. She props her feet next to him comfortable.

Peter snorts. “You don’t shave your legs, MJ.”

Michelle raises an eyebrow at him as if daring him. “That doesn’t bother you, does it?”

Peter reaches over and swipes his hand up her leg from ankle to knee cap before shooting her a nonchalant glance. “Nope.”

Michelle is _so glad_ she’s sitting down because she can feel her legs turn to jelly. “Well, now I feel kind of shitty for having a negative opinion about your five o’clock shadow.” 

Peter’s head whips around. “You dislike it?”

“I don’t actively dislike it, but I don’t like it…?” Michelle attempts to explain. Peter’s expression remains perplexed. “I just prefer you without it and think you look better that way. No particular reason.”

_Nothing to do with how I like to admire your cheekbones without the distraction of stubble…_

Peter doesn’t look upset, merely contemplative. 

“Dude, this water feels amazing," Michelle tells him before he can go all moody on her. "Good call.”

“I’m full of good ideas.”

“You’re full of something alright.”

Peter rolls his eyes at her before quickly climbing out of the tub. He pulls two bottles of water out of a mini-fridge. “I don’t want you getting dehydrated. See? Good ideas.”

Just like when she found out Stark was helping take care of her expenses, the unfamiliar feeling of being looked after emerges. It’s not _bad_ , just different. 

_Peter’s been researching my recovery, he’s got lunch planned for us, and he’s making sure I’m hydrated._

“You’re not taking care of me because you feel guilty, are you? I don’t want you to feel that way.”

The bottle of water in Peter’s hand pauses in midair about six inches from her hand. “I wouldn’t say you _need it_ , at least not the way I have in the past, but I’m not doing anything out of obligation. I think you spend more time than you realize looking after me and I’m trying to return the favor. So I guess just let me keep trying, MJ. I want to be there for you.”

Michelle takes the bottle of water from his hand and sips on it slowly. Being vulnerable sucks, but Peter seems less adverse to it than she does and she’s not trying to discourage it. “Okay.”

“I appreciate that. I know you probably find all of this kind of boring, but after lunch I have something else planned that might be a terrible idea but I think you’ll like it.”

Michelle can feel her interest pique and kind of hates Peter for the smug look he’s giving her. He’s cocky enough to think he can not only surprise her, but surprise her with something she’ll _like_. 

“You’re not going to tell me what it is, are you?”

Peter laughs. “MJ, there would literally be no fun in doing that when I can just _not_ tell you and watch you get all bent out of shape.”

“Keeping secrets from me defies the Geneva Convention. It’s inhumane.” 

Peter’s expression cracks for a split second before he blinks and takes a sip of water. “I know how you feel about war criminals.”

“ _Tell me, Peter_ ,” Michelle groans. 

“No, I’m not telling you in the name of friendship equality,” Peter informs her. “You do this to me all the time. It’s only fair I do it back.”

Michelle purses her lips because he totally has a point. “Fine, but if I guess it, you have to tell me. Deal?”

“Deal.”


	8. I'm the One You Tell Your Fears To

Michelle lobs guesses at Peter until her skin begins to prune from the water. She apparently never gets it, because Peter stays silent about their after-lunch plans. He mimes zipping his lips and is sure to keep a good distance in front of her when they head to the kitchen after training. Peter is enjoying his rare upper hand a little too much and she gives him a playful swat when he grins smugly.

It turns out that Michelle is hungrier than she realizes and could not be more grateful that Darcy has taken an interest in her diet. Part of lunch is a spinach salad full of hard-boiled eggs, red onions, crispy bacon, all covered with something that Darcy calls hot bacon dressing. It’s admittedly awesome and kind of disgusting but tastes incredible. The other part of lunch is a Cuban sandwich that melts in Michelle’s mouth served with a side of cassava fries. She’s surprised the typical bitterness of the sandwich’s traditional yellow mustard has been replaced by a sweet and tangy mustard aioli sauce.

“Peter told me you don’t like yellow mustard, so I improvised,” Darcy says with a wink. Michelle’s not sure if she’s winking at her or Peter and probably doesn’t want to know. The fact that Peter is talking about her dietary preferences to someone she barely knows is a little unnerving, even if he’s doing it ostensibly for her benefit.

Darcy pops open two pint bottles of some imported lambic beer that has a cork. It tastes nothing like beer—more like a tart, fruity soda—which probably suits Peter just fine considering it's also incredibly sweet. The bottle Darcy hands her is raspberry and Peter’s is peach, and halfway through their bottles they switch flavors. The acidity cuts through the heaviness of their food in a way Michelle didn't know she could appreciate.

 _Probably because I eat deli sandwiches all the damn time and am going to have a hell of hard time going back to them..._.

“Are all of your meals this elaborate?” Michelle wonders. Pulled pork for the sandwiches and cured ham are not necessarily things Darcy could have whipped together without planning.

“They are now. But college was pure hell—being broke and living in a shitty apartment with four other girls isn’t exactly ideal. Waking up to your dirty dishes this morning was like a flashback.”

“We’re sorry,” Peter says quickly. “We really did forget.”

“Of course you’re sorry; you want home-cooked meals while you stay here,” Darcy counters good-naturedly. She ruffles Peter’s hair again, a sisterly gesture that makes Peter turn red with embarrassment. “It’s much more manageable to cook for you two than the entire team.”

“Do you know when the rest of the Avengers will be getting back?” Michelle asks. “I hate to say it, but it’s kind of nice and quiet without them. How long is it going to last?”

“They keep Sam, Steve, and Natasha pretty busy. Sometimes Bucky tags along like he’s doing now. I think they’ll be back in a few hours, actually, but if you want to keep more to yourselves, this place is plenty big enough to avoid anyone you don’t want to see as long as you know their habits. Hell, you can even set up protocols with F.R.I.D.A.Y. if you’re trying to avoid someone. She’ll alert you to that person’s proximity and you have time to run off.”

“Do people avoid each other here a lot?” Michelle asks before Peter can deter her.

“Eh, only a few come to mind, and not all the time. Bruce avoids the Maximoffs like the plague and Steve leaves the room whenever Tony rolls in to avoid getting blatantly ignored, but that’s about it.”

Michelle is just dying to know more about the last one but Peter doesn’t look happy that Darcy mentioned it, so she lets it go. “But overall everyone gets along?”

“I guess, although I’m not here often enough to say,” Darcy admits. “It’s not really one big happy family anymore. There’s so many of them now and after the Accords it’s not as tight-knit as I heard it was. The Avengers assemble when the earth is in danger and sometimes when it’s not. We’re throwing a little shindig here at the compound in a couple days. It’s technically not mine, but I’ll see if I can get you an officially-sanctioned invite. It’s probably the last thing on everyone’s mind given what’s happened to Peter. I fully expect almost everyone to visit by the end of the week, even Hope and Pepper, although neither can make it the night of the party.”

Michelle smirks at Peter, whose expression is somewhere between embarrassed and smug at the thought of getting a visit from the Stark Industries CEO. Michelle has always admired Pepper Potts for staying classy with the press. Restraint isn’t her style but it’s a quality Michelle holds in high esteem. It reminds her of how even though her parents encountered and dealt with unsavory characters through their jobs, they never talked down on anyone or treated them poorly. Michelle doesn’t often find the strength to be polite or patient. Considering something for a moment, Michelle turns to Darcy.

“So, Peter says he has a surprise planned for me. Do you know what it is?”

Peter practically falls out of his chair in an effort to keep her quiet, and Darcy takes pity on him. “I could also make you guess, but I heard you did a terrible job of that already so no, I don’t think I’ll tell you.”

Michelle rolls her eyes. “I don’t get no respect around here,” she grumbles.

“Peter, she just quoted Rodney Dangerfield, can I please tell her?”

“No!”

“You’re no fun. Should I put Helen on standby in case you kids get hurt?”

Peter groans. _”Darcy!_

Michelle stands abruptly. “Wait, what? Is it dangerous?”

“ _No!”_ Peter states emphatically, and all hints of mirth are gone from his face. Darcy looks appropriately chastised and purses her lips apologetically.

“You guys go do your thing,” Darcy offers contritely, “I’ll clean all this up.”

Peter hangs his head. “I didn’t mean to snap, Darcy, it’s just I don’t want you scaring Michelle. It’s not supposed to be a bad surprise.”

Darcy sighs, shoving pots and pans into the sink. “I know and I’m sorry, Peter.”

Michelle knows Peter risks picking up Darcy’s sullen mood as she picks up after them and manages to hurry them both out of the kitchen under the guise of feeding Firefly. Once the cat is fed, Peter practically races off to a section of the compound she’s never been to, not even on her tour. Before she knows it, they’re both standing in a sizeable garage in front of a black 1969 Mustang. It’s too traditional and American to belong to Stark, and Michelle can pretty much surmise the only other occupant at the compound that would have the money to spend on such a car.

“Um, are you _sure_ this is okay with Annie? What if something happens?”

“That’s what insurance is for.”

“I’m pretty sure I want to be able to look Annie in the eye when she gets back and I don’t think I can do that if we _wreck her car_.”

“I _can_ actually drive now. I have the license to prove it.” 

“Maybe the instructor issued you a license so she wouldn’t have to suffer through another test with you. She might not have thought she’d survive another round.”

Peter ignores her. “I can totally teach you.”

“You have to be at least twenty one to legally teach me, right?”

“You’re going to quote the law at an Avenger?”

“Some Avengers play pretty fast and loose with the law; a reminder is totally fair,” Michelle points out. She stares at the yellow New York license plate on the front of Annie’s car and crosses her arms. 

“Look, if you’re freaked out, I understand. I don’t want to force you to, but you seem like the type to want to conquer your fear and Kevin won’t let you anywhere near a car after what happened to your parents. If you want to learn, you can, is all I’m saying.”

_“I don’t want to steal her car.”_

“It’s not a joyride and we have permission, MJ.”

Michelle raises an eyebrow. Peter rolls his eyes and Michelle’s phone dings. She finds a picture of Antonia giving a wink and thumbs up and has the feeling she’s going to regret giving Annie her number. She politely declined joining the Avengers Snapchat because she just _knows_ that shit must get real weird, but it looks like she’s going to get bombarded with pictures anyway.

“I mean, I have to now,” Michelle whines, not wanting to back out because Annie had enthusiastically consented to letting her use her car. “Can you at least drive it out of here for me? The last thing I want to do is damage something else before I even leave the garage. Some of Tony’s cars cost more than a house.”

Peter’s natural inclination is to tease, but driving is Michelle’s biggest fear and he doesn’t dare joke about that. He does make a big production out of opening her car door for her (and gets a shove after he bows dramatically) but circles around silently to the driver’s side and sinks into the seat beside her. The engine roars to life when he turns the key, and Michelle jolts upright and jerks against her seatbelt. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just loud. Also my seat is vibrating—it’s vibrating like, a whole lot. Is that normal?”

“I’m pretty sure Annie’s done some work on the engine to make it more powerful.”

The rumble of the engine still seems unnaturally loud. Michelle’s pulse is skyrocketing and Peter gives her a reassuring pat on the knee. She smiles until he gives her knee a squeeze, and then her heart races for a reason that has nothing to do with the car. She’s not quite sure where this touchy-feely version of Peter came from, but she’s enjoying it. The havoc it wreaks on her occasionally sends her reeling, but it’s exciting nonetheless. She’d rather focus on that than the inevitable moment she gets behind the wheel for herself.

“I don’t know if I can handle driving a car, Peter.”

“If you don’t feel up to learning, I can at least drive the perimeter since we’re already out here. I promise I won’t go too fast. Is that alright?”

Michelle trusts Peter to stick to his promise. “Okay.”

With an ease that surprises her, Peter puts it into gear and they begin the circuit around the compound. So engrossed in what he’s doing, Michelle starts when her phone buzzes. It’s Annie again, and Michelle knows this will be a thing—Avengers texting her—and tries not to smile when she imagines the look on Ned’s face when he finds out. She assures Annie that Peter is treating her car well and asks how the conference is going. 

**MICHELLE: Girl, you get your shit together yet for your presentation?**

**ANTONIA: The conference is tomorrow—I’m using this day to fix myself up and rehearse my lecture for the hundredth time. I shelled out three hundred dollars for a fresh lavender balayage because no photostatic veil can fix my _hair_. Why did I sign up for this again? I hate public speaking.**

Michelle is truthfully not a huge fan of talking in front of strangers and thought she was going to pass out during her Harvard interview. But it was one of her parents’ strengths, so she forces herself to do it whenever she has to. It’s part of why she joined Decathlon. Peter is right; she likes to face her fears, even in small ways.

 _Or big ways_ , Michelle thinks as Peter accelerates slightly around a turn. It’s too cold to put the windows down and feel the wind through her still-damp hair, but it’s exhilarating. It’s easy to admire Peter’s profile when he’s concentrating on driving. He looks almost stern and Michelle is overwhelmed by fondness when he glances at her and smiles.

“You okay, MJ?” Peter repeats. 

“Yes.” Michelle peers down at his feet. “Wait, what’s that third pedal down there?”

“…The clutch?” Peter blinks. 

“Like a handbag?”

“…Did your parents drive an automatic transmission or a manual?”

“Umm…” Michelle’s embarrassed to admit she never paid attention. 

“Right. So I don’t think Tony or Annie own any cars that aren’t stick…but I think Scott does. Scott _totally_ does.”

“I don’t really understand what you’re saying so I’ll just agree with you.”

“You should probably learn how to drive stick, but you don’t know how to drive, period, so it’s probably easier that way to start from scratch.” 

Michelle suspects Peter’s kind of talking to himself and is also ninety nine percent sure that while Annie has no problem letting Peter drive her Mustang, Scott will probably not be so accommodating. Peter has mentioned many times that Scott is a nice guy overall, but Peter doesn’t have a great track record with the things he borrows from anyone that isn’t her. It occurs to Michelle that Peter takes great care with the books and clothes she lends him but is not nearly respectful to pretty much anything else, even his own possessions.

“Hey Peter, how do you have time to finish all those books I lend you when you can barely keep up with your homework assignments?”

The question’s been bugging her since Darcy mentioned Avengers having downtime. 

“Um, I guess it’s because nobody really _likes_ doing homework, but I like the stuff you recommend. I guess being aware of social issues kind of puts my work as an Avenger into perspective. Captain America followed S.H.I.E.L.D. for awhile but he didn’t always know the repercussions of his missions because they were an intelligence organization and everything was need-to-know. He told me later—and I told you—that he said he regretted following them for so long, that it made him question his own judgment. After the Accords and the big fight in Germany I want to stay informed. You know more about social and political issues than half the team.”

 _Wow. He says it like it’s no big deal_. Feeling her face heat up, Michelle can’t help but lower her eyes. “Well, but not everything I recommend is non-fiction and you still like those.”

“Yeah, but those are just plain fun, especially the science fiction. You’ve got great taste in books, MJ.”

Before sheer giddiness can overtake her, Peter pulls over in a large lot Michelle suspects is used for quinjets. He turns off the car and she’s struck suddenly by how quiet it is. The compound is so remote and completely different from her home. When they exit the vehicle to switch seats, she points at one of many black burn patterns on the ground. “Are those scorch marks?”

“Sometimes Tony and Annie bring prototypes out here for practice but there’s so many of them it’s probably from one of a hundred different training exercises. Colonel Rhodes used to train out here too and I’m sure some of them are from him.”

“Alrighty,” Michelle nods as she climbs into the driver’s seat of a car for the first time. Peter gives her a moment to appreciate the experience and take everything in. She leans back against the leather upholstery and her hands curl around the steering wheel. Her feet are planted on the floor mats and even though the car is turned off, she still feels its power. She's scared, she realizes, at least until she feels his palm close over the back of her hand.

Without meaning to, she locks eyes with Peter, whose expression is so concerned and sweet she wishes she can reach across the center console and pull him in for a kiss. He’s so fucking perfect and she loves that he surprised her with this. She normally _hates_ surprises but this? This is amazing. She tells herself that even if Peter goes off and finds another Liz Toomes or Gwen Stacy, there’s no way they’ll be able to look at him and feel half of what she’s feeling right now.

“You with me right now, MJ?” Peter asks quizzically at her uncharacteristically blank expression. Nodding, she turns the key just to get reacquainted with the sound and feel of the powerful engine. Michelle is mildly impressed by how thorough Peter is when he goes over everything she needs to know. He discusses all the gauges on the dashboard and what they mean. He provides a very technical explanation on how the engine operates and Michelle realizes the more she knows about it, the less scary it is. Michelle isn’t afraid of riding in cars, but driving them has always terrified her. Knowing how to control her environment is actually very reassuring.

The driving part is not as easy as Peter made it look. She’s relieved to be learning on a closed course; if she was in a parking lot or highway she’d cause accidents or at the very least, get a lot of shade thrown her way—she’s pretty fucking awful at driving. Michelle struggles with the clutch and stalls out more times than she cares to admit. No one told her about cars with stick shifts! A devastating thought comes to her suddenly.

“I’m not going to hurt Annie’s car, am I?” Michelle asks sheepishly after about the tenth time the Mustang has jerked to a sudden halt.

“I’m pretty sure you’re going to kill her battery and maybe her starter motor but Annie is just super pumped you’re actually trying to drive and will one hundred percent not be mad.”

“Why would she be excited about that?”

“Because you’re conquering your fears?”

Michelle groans. “Why does she know I’m afraid to drive? Did you tell her?”

“I may have mentioned it when I asked permission to use her car. She doesn’t know about your parents, though.”

“I guess if anyone knows, she’d be the most sympathetic,” Michelle reasons. “Do you talk about me to your teammates a lot?”

Pinned by Michelle’s steely gaze, Peter begins to panic. “Maybe?”

“What could you possibly be telling them? I get the impression your team is not super great at communicating sometimes but _everyone_ seems to know my name and that we know each other. That’s kind of weird,  
considering that you guys are probably never all in the same room.”

Peter shrugs. “That last part is probably true. But we talk about all kinds of stuff. The Avengers always ask me about school and you and Ned are the only people I regularly hang out with.”

_That’s fair._

“God, can you imagine if Ned were here?”

Peter laughs. “He’d have gotten kicked out the very first night. Thanks for being my cool friend.”

The corners of Michelle’s eyes crinkle as she smiles.

-

Not brave enough to take many chances, Michelle never drives more than fifty feet in any direction before throwing in the towel. She makes him promise to teach her again tomorrow, which he happily agrees to, before he runs off to exercise and train with Vision and the Maximoffs. Michelle doesn’t want to admit that she’s afraid of the twins, so she makes up a very convincing excuse about reading and sneaks down to the medical bay to see how much progress has been made on Peter’s condition. 

Michelle knows it’s bratty, but she feels ditched. She knows training is important and had no problem when he went off with Sam, but she feels differently about the twins and she hasn’t even met them. She relishes a perverse sense of satisfaction knowing that Helen Cho shares her mistrust of the Maximoffs. Michelle hates being biased, but she feels there’s a good cause for it. The idea of someone sorting through all her feelings and thoughts is no less abhorrent than a physical violation. A person should be entitled to privacy and should never be compelled to act against their will. She trusts Peter to protect her and to an extent, a reformed Wanda not to pry or coerce, but she can’t get over how utterly _scared_ at the very thought of that she is. 

_What if she can pick up on my thoughts without even trying? I heard that there are mutants that pick up on projected emotions very easily. What if I project my emotions?_

Realizing she’s just being plain paranoid, Michelle takes a deep breath before entering medical. Helen smiles kindly when she registers Michelle’s presence but seems more interested in her work than socializing, unlike Annie or Tony. The music she’s playing in the background is very pleasant and weirdly familiar. Michelle is vaguely aware that she must be very distracting to Doctor Cho, whose dark eyes narrow at her from across the room.

“Did you require medical assistance?” Helen inquires.

“Oh, not at all,” Michelle reassures her. _I’m too restless to read in my room knowing Peter is hanging out with your least favorite twins in the compound._ “I guess I’m just nosy.”

“You do realize that I will inform you both if I make a breakthrough?” Helen informs her mildly. 

Not cowed, Michelle shrugs and points to one of the speakers playing piano music. “Are you playing Yann Tiersen?”

Helen’s eyes widen for a moment and she shakes her head. “Jean-Michel Blais. He’s similar, though; they’re easy enough to mix up I suppose. Tony thinks I play boring music but I don’t know how he can concentrate listening to loud rock songs.”

(Michelle recalls Peter telling her that Tony thought the music he listened to was lame, even the rap, and had tried to listen to some classic rock and metal songs to impress him, but couldn’t make it through even three songs before he had to quit. She’s pretty certain that he’s _never_ told Tony of his failed attempt.)

“So nothing with lyrics, then?”

“Not in the lab. Outside the lab I like normal music, but when I’m working it’s too distracting.”

“So do you have several weeks’ worth of music like this guy’s stuff?”

Helen hums as she considers it. “Maybe not several weeks’ worth, but enough to get you started if you were interested. Some of it’s very beautiful and immersive. Violin music is my favorite because I used to play, but piano music is a close second at probably easier to listen to while I work.”

The idea of a Helen Cho playlist intrigues her more than one from Darcy, truth be told. She doesn’t _really_ have anything against sad white people music, but she truthfully isn’t that familiar with it and Michelle knows for sure that she’ll actually like some neoclassical and minimalist music. Her expression must be receptive because Helen smiles at her. 

“I’ll send some music to you later,” Helen promises. “And I _promise_ I will tell you as soon as I have a solution for Peter. But as nice as you are, you also qualify as a distraction. If you don’t require medical attention, I must ask you to leave.”

 _That is the nicest way I’ve ever been told to fuck off_. But Helen says it good-naturedly and Michelle knows her point is completely valid. She obeys and leaves with a wave that Helen sweetly returns. 

As Michelle heads back to her room, she realizes that Bruce or Antonia would have attempted to share some news or reiterate what they’ve already discovered in an effort to make her feel better, but Helen did not, and she both appreciates it and is disappointed at the same time. It takes a few minutes to traverse the compound (she’s taking the damned stairs because an elevator in someone’s house, no matter how big, is still weird). 

Rounding the corner by the kitchen, Michelle nearly collides with Bruce, who’s carrying a plate full of carrots and hummus. He smiles and clears his throat. 

“How are you today, Michelle?” 

“Good. How are you?”

“Very well, actually,” Bruce replies. He taps his fingertips against the bottom of his plate twice before continuing on. “I know with everything going on this may not be something you’re interested in, but my girlfriend Betty is coming over on Friday night and I’m hosting a little celebration for her birthday. You might think it’s lame and it’ll mostly be comprised of middle aged adults, but Betty would love to meet you and see Peter. Even if you can only stay a little while, we’d appreciate having you both come by.”

“Why would I think it’s lame?” Michelle wonders.

“Um, Peter mentioned that you make fun of hipster music a lot, and The Decemberists are one of Betty’s favorites. Darcy’s boyfriend Ian is in a cover band and was going to provide some of the music. I wasn’t sure how much you would hate it.”

_Why would Peter tell Doctor Banner about my perceived taste in music? And I don’t actually hate hipster music, I just make fun of it because he likes it. Why doesn’t he know the difference?_

“I think I’ll be okay. Peter doesn’t know my music tastes as much as he thinks he does.”

For some reason this makes the ends of Bruce’s mouth tilt up in a smirk. “Betty’s always surprising me with her music tastes, too.”

“Yeah, but Betty’s your gir—” Michelle trails off when she realizes that like everyone else, Bruce seems to be solidly under the impression that she and Peter are dating or gets a solid A+ in trolling. Bruce smiles politely at her.

Michelle’s smile is shy. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“I’ll text you the time on Friday; depending on when she gets in it might start late.”

Michelle nods, wondering if this is the event Darcy mentioned. 

“Great. I’ll see you around.”

As if in a daze, Michelle heads back towards her room. Finally alone (except for a cat), Michelle checks her mobile for another text or snap from Peter. She has a few Instagram notifications but nothing from him. Disappointed, she scrolls through her meme stash for a second before finding one she can send. Hopefully it’ll garner a reply and she can stop feeling so desperate.

“Miss Jones, Darcy Lewis is requesting entrance to your quarters.”

Michelle purses her lips, contemplating. “Let her in, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

When Darcy enters, Michelle takes a moment to study her. Since she’s working remotely, Darcy is hardly the polished career woman she first appeared to be. Devoid of jewelry and makeup, Darcy is still quite pretty but not so intimidating. It’s funny how makeup and clothes really shape a first impression. She’s wondering if she’ll meet new team members at Bruce’s party. 

“If this is a bad time, I can come back,” Darcy offers. She’s pointedly not looking at all the clothes and books Michelle still has strewn all over the floor. 

“No, it’s fine. Have a seat.” Michelle gestures to the chair that isn’t currently occupied by Firefly, who is dead asleep.

Darcy leans forward in her chair in a borderline comical way. She cocks her head to the side and takes in the complete mess she’s already made in the room she’s barely spent any time in. 

“Michelle, I want you to know that I seriously debated coming here. I want you to know you can be totally honest with me. I’m willing to bet that every single person you met here already has asked about you and Peter, even though officially there is no _you and Peter_ , at least not yet. I'm here if you wanted to talk about it.”

Honestly, Michelle debates lying. She considers telling Darcy to fuck off and mind her own business. She thinks about asking Darcy what her opinion is on Peter’s feelings for her, because the only person she could ever ask before was Ned, and that was _never_ going to happen. Darcy kind of hates being called out but wonders if maybe she deserves it for all the shit she gives other people. She was pretty brutal to Peter when he had a giant crush on Liz.

Michelle can’t really find it in her to be mad. She sighs. “Why would you want to help me?”

“Um, because watching two people suffer mutual pining is the worst.” 

“You make us sound like a Jane Austen book.”

“Then at least someone here would get together at the end. After Thanos, all the relationships on this team got turned on their head. People watched their loved ones die and in some cases, be brought back to life after Tony used the Gauntlet. Like, shit got real and everyone decided that they wanted different things out of life because nothing ever felt that close to the end of all things before.”

Michelle is struck by how little her relationship with Peter changed overall. He hasn’t quite been the same since, but she wouldn’t say it was a huge difference. He’s quieter and more mature, but still inquisitive and brimming with energy. He still seems to _need_ her, in a less urgent but still persistent way than after Gwen died. Somehow that hasn’t changed.

“If Peter has feelings, the world ending didn’t exactly inspire him to act on them,” Michelle intones dryly.

“Girl, it’s not that easy!” Darcy crows as she leans back in her chair. “Just because you care about someone doesn’t mean you know what to do about those feelings. I mean, just look at _you_. The world was going to end for you too and I'm pretty sure you didn't make a confession either.”

Darcy winks and Michelle rolls her eyes. “I’m a little too restless right now to read so I’m settling for humoring you, but you’re not really selling it yet.”

“Peter told me you’re observant. So am I. I just follow up with questions. You’d be surprised by how often people want to talk to someone and just don’t have anyone that can listen. They pick me because they assume I’m too  
hot to have complex thoughts or feelings about what they have to say based on my looks. They think I care because I’m listening but sometimes I’m just too apathetic to leave the room. Does that ever happen to you?”

On a daily basis Michelle feels like she’s on the receiving end of a villain’s monologue; it’s a steady stream of people saying whatever they want to in front of her because she doesn’t matter. A part of her is horrified that Darcy is slowly drawing her out, but another part of her is relieved. People see Darcy and dismiss her, just like they look at Michelle and do the same thing. It strikes Michelle that the only person she talks to about feelings is Peter, but she can’t exactly discuss her feelings for him _with_ him, so she’s been repressing them for a solid two years. 

“You want to use your powers for good? Then maybe you can help me figure out why when we’re together Peter is pretty normal but he’s really weird around everyone else.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“I hate to think me being here is making him so depressed and cranky. He’s run hot and cold since I arrived and he ignored me the entire ride up here. He’s never normally like that.”

“Consider the circumstances of your visit. A crazy dude almost blows you up…it may or may not have something to do with his secret identity, but either way, you got hurt and he couldn’t stop it. He probably feels responsible.”

Michelle _knows_ that’s true, and it enrages her. “I have always been able to take care of myself. Harry put me in this stupid situation and I hate that I’m a burden to Peter now. I never wanted that!”

“Did you tell Peter how you feel?” 

“I did, but I guess I didn’t tell him to what degree. I have been actively avoiding thinking about Harry because I don’t deal with being angry too well and I can’t recall the last time I felt that mad at someone. I’m afraid I might freak out Peter and make him worse. He’s been having weird nightmares and he won’t tell me what’s exactly happening in them.”

“Is it fair to complain he doesn’t tell you things when you don’t tell him things?” Darcy’s voice is light, but the words are pretty damning.

“I can’t burden him with all my insecurities right now. He’s on the edge of a breakdown at all times now because of Harry being a fucking asshole.”

“I kind of meant before all that, because it’s pretty obvious you’ve been carrying a torch for awhile.”

“It doesn’t mean that he feels the same,” Michelle grinds out.

Darcy stands and plants her hands on her hips. “Michelle, don’t ever think he doesn’t care about you, because that would be the dumbest thing I ever heard. This whole team has been hearing about you for the past year and a half. It’s no wonder everyone thinks you’re dating. Peter talks about you _all_ the time.”

The feeling of her heart dropping into her stomach makes her so uncomfortable Michelle actually stands up and paces. She frowns at Darcy’s serious tone—she doesn’t strike her as the type of woman who insists upon much, but right now she looks pretty damned sure of herself.

_Why would Peter even mention me to Earth’s mightiest heroes? I’m just some girl from school._

Darcy mistakes Michelle’s silence for disbelief and plops back down in her chair. “He’s always showing us some new book you recommended or is trying to get us to listen to albums you’re into. I’m pretty sure they’re your doing, because not many white teenage boys are reading Marlon James and listening to Joni Mitchell. It’s fucking endearing that he’s so proud of your good taste. You being really beautiful is just icing on the cake for us. We’re having so much fun with this.”

“Beautiful?” Michelle can feel her hackles rise. She’s _not_ beautiful, and she’s kind of not beautiful on purpose, because she’s a little afraid of failing because Liz Toomes and Gwen Stacy are model-level gorgeous and prettiness is not an arena she wants to compete in for a myriad of reasons. Is it feminist to care about looks? Is it antifeminist to? 

“Michelle, you’re an eyeshadow palette and a tube of red lipstick away from being a runway model. Don’t argue with me. Sam said you’re a dime piece and he meant it. Peter’s not a bad looking guy, but Sam and Bucky always thought you’d be kinda…nerdy looking. They figured anyone that hangs out with Peter on an Academic Decathlon team was not going to be hot. They’re really dumb sometimes.” 

“Why are they always picking on Peter?”

“Ha, you’re not around to see him pick back! Sam and Bucky kind of see him like an annoying little brother. There are ridiculous pranks and stupid dares you’d never believe. You also have no idea how hard Peter razzes on them. He’s stronger than Bucky and more agile than Sam. They’re kinda butthurt about it and he gives them shit every time they train. You’ve probably never seen him in a fight, but Peter usually fires off one-liners the whole time.”

“I watched him fight Harry,” Michelle admits quietly. “I didn’t hear anything of the sort.”

Darcy actually raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Interesting.”

“I don’t really know why it would be,” Michelle grumbles. “I’m nothing special, no matter how much he talks about me. I’m nothing like the other girls he’s been interested in.”

“What, physically?” Darcy asks. “You should be smarter than that. I mean, that’s literally only two examples that you know of. You’re smart and have compatible personalities, which is the most important thing. And you don’t know if he’s attracted to you or not.”

“I mean, why would he be? He’s around women like Riri and Kamala and Kate and they’re superheroes! They’re the whole package.”

Darcy’s eyes narrow. “I bet Peter’s not the best looking guy at your school, but you don’t like that guy, you like Peter. And Peter gets to decide what he wants, no one else. Since you haven’t asked him, how do you know for sure?”

The argument is logical but Michelle instinctively wants to fight. But Darcy’s body language is placating and non-threatening so she takes a deep breath and sits back down. She looks over at Darcy, who’s watching her carefully.  
“Michelle, how about for the next few days, just view everything Peter does under the lens of him maybe feeling exactly as you do but unsure if his feelings are returned…the same as you. You might find it enlightening, since I know you won’t actually ask him.” 

Michelle rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

Darcy gives her a knowing smile, and Michelle realizes that she’s in for a week of pain. Convincing herself there’s no way Peter’s interested in her has kept her safe in a lot of ways. 

“Well, my work here is done. I’ll see you at dinner time!”

With a definite spring in her step that was completely absent upon arrival, Darcy leaves for her room, leaving a very perplexed Michelle behind. With a sigh, she reaches over and grabs a book from her pile. 

_I might as well do what I told Peter I was doing anyway_ , Michelle thinks. _He’s always asking me very detailed questions about what I read. I don’t want to have to lie._


	9. The Trap I Set for You Seems to Have Caught My Leg Instead

Michelle finds that Darcy must have left her more books, but the on the top of her haphazard stack she still finds the volume of Hafiz poetry that was mentioned earlier, the one that belongs to Antonia. It’s a hardback that has a pleasant weight in her hands—she hates to judge a book by its cover but like all bibliophiles, _sometimes_ she can’t help it. It’s simply lovely. It appears to be a collection of translated poems; Michelle has heard of Hafiz before, the “Shakespeare of Persian literature.” She is admittedly curious.

Reverently opening the front page, Michelle sees a note scrawled in the front in a language she doesn’t recognize. She recalls reading somewhere that Annie's mother is Chinese, but this is definitely a different language. With an Afghan father, it would probably be Pashto or Dari. Michelle doesn't know enough about either to know the difference, but the message leaves her awash in nostalgia: after the emergence of e-books and Kindles, Michelle’s father began gifting her books with references to mortifying inside jokes scrawled inside so she’d “never be able to sell them out of shame and embarrassment.” Her fingers ache to trace some of those words again, but since the only one she’d lent Peter with one of those inscriptions is probably at his home in Queens, she knows she can’t until she gets back to the city.

_My brother may not be much more than a landlord, but at least he’s something. Annie doesn’t have any family members left. This note was penned by the late, great Doctor Ho Yinsen. Seeing Tony so often must be...complicated for her_.

With a sigh, Michelle settles for sticking the book on a shelf high enough she won’t knock it down with her elbows or spill tea on it. She knows she’s got some bad personal habits when it comes to being tidy and figures that with the various mugs of tea all over her room, that’s a distinct possibility. She doesn’t want to ruin a Yinsen family heirloom by being careless.

Michelle also realizes she needs to hang up and take inventory of all the clothing that was ordered for her. Despite experiencing some skepticism over the years regarding Tony Stark (both before and after he made Peter’s acquaintance), he’s a very generous host and Michelle doesn’t want to be disrespectful and treat his gifts poorly. She isn’t generally a procrastinator, and since the thought won’t leave, she reluctantly stands up and starts her task.

_The sheer amount of items Annie managed to stuff into that duffel bag deserves some kind of special award of recognition._

After forty mind-numbing minutes of unpacking and folding shirts and jeans, hanging blouses and dresses, and taking stock of her socks and underwear, Michelle is finally feeling organized. It does wonders for her mood. Her barren closet and empty drawers are all full and a neat row of shoes and boots line a section of the wall. She has no idea how long her stay will be, but at present she seems to have enough clothing to last until the apocalypse.

(After finally reviewing the extent of Annie’s donations, Michelle also realizes that she threw in a fancy hair dryer, an expensive-looking flat iron, and a shit ton of high-end hair products she’s always read about but has never been able to afford. Annie is a good bro if she's willing to give a virtual stranger a Dyson and a T3.)

Michelle keeps the tags on everything. It’s an old habit, in case they have to go back.

“Hey F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Yes, Miss Jones?”

“It was mentioned that you ordered these clothes for me, but how did you know what to pick? Is there, like, an algorithm or something for picking out clothes for teenage girls? How did you know what size to even buy?”

“I scanned you upon entering the facility to acquire your measurements.”

_Creepy, but Peter did say that everything he ordered fit him for a reason, I guess_ …

“But how did you know what to pick for me?”

“All parameters were set by Mister Parker.”

“Oh?” Michelle wonders aloud, because this is now very interesting. “Can you elaborate on that?”

“Mister Parker visited several websites and had me filter all search results for him based on a list of requirements having to do with the inclusion and exclusion of several colors and styles. He approved every final selection.”

Michelle’s eyebrows are slowly creeping up her forehead in disbelief. _That explains why he was so concerned about whether or not I liked what showed up_.

“Can you tell me his exact preferences by any chance?”

“I cannot disclose that information. Are you dissatisfied with your order? I am authorized to place another up to ten thousand dollars.”

“No!” Michelle practically shouts. “I am quite satisfied.”

_Just confused._

There are cute dresses and tops from Free People way out of Michelle’s price range and one _really_ nice pair of boots and a jacket she had eyed up at the mall, but almost everything else is sensible and very strictly aligned with what the universe might agree is “her” sense of style. Michelle recalls how she had forced him to shop with her for her Harvard interview outfit and apparently he was paying attention; all the feminine articles were similar to the ones she pointed out to him that she liked but didn’t end up getting. The blazer is even the same brand she showed him; Peter pays a surprising amount of attention for someone that always looks like he’s distracted.

Glancing at her phone and wincing at the time, Michelle finally settles on the book that Darcy originally lent her. It’s immediately accessible (Michelle has always gotten the Twain vibe from Trillin—witty enough to be funny and biting at the same time without being off-putting and overtly preachy) and even though the articles are uncomfortable and well, somewhat depressing, it’s still relatively quick reading for her. She’s made remarkable progress by the time she gets a text from Darcy about dinner being ready in an hour.

Peering over at her new wardrobe, Michelle hops in the shower and contemplates what she’s going to wear. Even though mere hours ago Peter saw her in a swimsuit, she wonders if she can get a bigger reaction out of him by donning one of the outfits he picked out. She always gets a thrill when he wears the clothes he borrows from her—will he like seeing her in the stuff he picked out for her? She’s not ashamed to admit to herself, privately, that she loves when he wears something of hers. 

It’s the thought of privacy that brings one of her biggest fears to the forefront yet again.

_What if he brings the murder twins to dinner? _Horror suddenly stops Michelle’s hand halfway to her shampoo bottle in midair. _Wanda will be able to feel the insecurity radiating off of me in waves. Maybe I should just skip dinner? No, that’s stupid. I’m not missing dinner because of some boy, even if that boy is Peter Parker and even if he’s friends with telepaths.___

____

____

Michelle lathers her hair up more vigorously than she should and broods a bit as it rinses out. Wanda surely has more important things on her mind than humiliating a teenage girl. At this point Michelle is also afraid she will be called out on her fear of the woman herself—by the woman herself—even though this is highly improbable. The logical part of Michelle’s brain realizes that Wanda might not even be at dinner; she recalls Peter mentioning that she prefers taking her meals with Vision and Pietro on a separate floor and rarely deviates from that course of action. But the chance of it happening at all still makes her uneasy.

Trying to take her mind off of something she can’t control, Michelle wraps a towel around her body and stares into her mirror sulkily. Knowing that a hair dryer will increase the volume of her hair tenfold (nor does she have three hours to tame it), she vigorously towels the strands as dry as she can and rubs a few drops of oil through it with her fingers. Michelle pulls her hair up in a satin wrap—the kind she’d never wear in public—so she doesn’t mess up her new clothes with her damp hair. When she pulls the blouse and trousers on, she’s startled to see how much she resembles her mother, right down to the head scarf. She’s rocking a vaguely Audrey Hepburn look between the cut of her clothes and the flats she has decided look best. 

_Not bad; I can almost pull off classy. Thanks for not dressing me like a fitness model on Instagram, Parker._

Knowing Peter will likely come and fetch her, she decides to get the drop on him and show up outside of _his_ room instead. Peter answers in the middle of pulling a shirt over his head, giving Michelle a wonderful glimpse of his abs.

“If I’m too early, I can just meet you in the kitchen,” Michelle says nonchalantly after a moment of awkward silence. She’s good at projecting it but realizes her apathy in most cases is truly genuine and therefore, not much of a stretch. With Peter, though, it’s a carefully measured artificial construct she uses to create distance and not appear so goddamn needy. He buys it every time.

Michelle's beginning to think this might be a problem.

Peter’s eyes are wide as saucers as he attempts to formulate a response. “Uh, I won’t be long. Did you want to wait?”

“Sure. You have three minutes.”

Michelle makes a show of setting the timer on her phone. She texts her brother back about their water bill and the location of the spare bottle of mustard she bought for him because he always seems to run out of the vile stuff. By the time their brief exchange is done, Peter reappears and Michelle dourly realizes she’s given him four minutes instead of three. He is wearing a completely different outfit than he had been less than five minutes ago; even his shoes are different. If she’s being shallow, Michelle can admit the new clothes are an improvement as they head off for their destination together.

“You alright, Peter?” Michelle eyes the _product_ that Peter has apparently decided to throw into his hair. Only through intense self control does she resist the urge to sift her fingers through his fringe. The absence of the sketchy beard she ridiculed him for earlier makes her pretty damn happy; that was a move solely for her benefit. She’s not sure if he squeezed it in during those four minutes or not—his facial hair is sparse enough that he could probably shave it off in less than a minute and she hadn’t been paying attention to his chin when he opened the door.

“I’m fine,” Peter replies with a similarly forced tone of casualness. He glances at her from his peripheral vision the entire way to the kitchen and Michelle pretends she isn’t doing the same. What Darcy says is _really_ fucking with her head to the point where she’s forgotten all about her original fear that Wanda might show up. When they finally turn the corner, Michelle finds that Bruce and Helen are already present and heaping their plates full of food.

_I guess that means no Wanda tonight._

“Um, hi,” Michelle says weakly, offering a feeble wave.

“We came up here to take a break and make something to eat,” Bruce explains, “and while we were making basmati, we had a breakthrough. We’re going to finalize everything after dinner, but we should be able to start a treatment very soon.”

Michelle feels a smile tugging on her lips and glances at Peter curiously. He seems hopeful and apprehensive, so she gives his hand a squeeze. Bruce and Helen give them warm smiles and Michelle fights the urge to reflexively drop his hand out of embarrassment. She doesn’t have a hard reputation here among these strangers to protect, but she’s not going to let people think she’s _sappy_.

Helen looks almost apologetic. “I’m vegetarian, so there’s no meat tonight. I hope you don’t mind.”

Michelle waves a hand. “That’s fine. Is it all Indian food?”

“Yes, when I studied in England, it was the only thing they had that I could stomach,” Helen admits sheepishly. “I guess I never stopped loving it. I force Bruce to make it for me every now and then.”

“I’m glad I got a night off from cooking,” Darcy says thankfully around a mouthful of rice. “Also, I love Indian food so much.”

Michelle cautiously puts sensible portions on her plate and tries to figure out what to try first. She enjoys spicy food, but…

A box of heartburn medication slides across the table towards her, courtesy of Darcy.

“Just because I love Indian food doesn’t mean it loves me back.”

Michelle smiles gratefully and nods, reading the directions and waiting a few minutes before digging in so that the medicine will be timed a little better. Not even sure quite sure where to start, she settles on the pile of food that’s closest to her fork. The first bite is intense; foreign spices sit in her mouth as her taste buds sift through every flavor. It’s different and it’s _good_.

“Do you like it?” Bruce asks almost hesitantly.

“You’re not shy with seasoning,” Michelle admits carefully, “although I’m used to eating very bland food so maybe it’s not actually too spicy. Also, why are there multiple rice dishes and so much food in general? Is that normal?”

“Helen likes basmati and tehari so I prepared both of them. The main dish is a vegetable curry that’s also unofficially my specialty so I always make that too. The other two dishes are technically desserts that I made for Peter but Darcy likes them too, especially the rice pudding. I swear that my cooking is why Betty agreed to be my girlfriend back at Harvard. She was going for her third PhD and I was going for my seventh. I’d always make us food because every place was closed by the time we realized we worked through dinner. We spent a lot of time studying.”

“And smoking,” Helen mutters, smiling when Bruce shrugs noncommittally.

“Recreational drug studies for science, Helen.”

“Science?” Darcy wiggles her eyebrows and Bruce feigns indignity.

“It was a legitimate study,” Bruce insists. He looks at Michelle before elaborating further. “We got grant money from Harvard to study the effects of LSD. That's actually a thing that happened.”

Michelle is disbelieving. “How did you get one of the best colleges in the country to fund something like that?”

Bruce smiles fondly. “Betty figured out that tying the recreational drug use to sex was a very rich seam of grant money. Actually she realized that tying _any_ research to sex was a very rich seam of grant money; good for her. In this particular case, lots of scholarly men are very curious about sexual experiences whilst under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs but are too afraid to actually partake and then record scientific data about the experience.”

“Wait, so you got paid to take illegal drugs _and_ have lots of sex?” Michelle asks suspiciously.

Bruce smiles angelically and Helen rolls her eyes.

“Please tell me you’re not doing shit like that at college this fall, Peter,” Darcy pleads to Peter, who seems a little embarrassed at his teammate’s admission. “I like the wholesome image you've got going on.”

“I’m pretty sure Peter’s going to be hard-pressed to find an excuse to get it on and get paid unless he’s building a sex robot at school,” Michelle deadpans, and Peter actually turns red and drops his fork.

“It would technically fall under the umbrella of computer science,” Darcy concedes with a shrug.

“Just like my sex and drugs study falls under the umbrella of biology,” Bruce muses when he spies Helen’s crossed arms. “Also, sex robots are totally a thing. People build them on earth and I’m ninety percent sure I saw them on Sakaar, so the concept must be universal. I’m surprised there isn’t more academic research.”

“Peter, you could be a pioneer,” Darcy cackles. “You could do it for science.”

“And he could make it look like whoever he wanted,” Michelle adds, wondering if he’d prefer Gwen or Liz.

“I’m sure Peter would simply prefer encounters with the real thing, not a robot,” Bruce opines around a mouthful of rice, “Although if he gave it a personality like one of Stark’s A.I.'s, I’m not sure if that would make the situation more or less creepy.”

“Don’t be crass,” Helen chastises.

Bruce and Helen engage in a heated discussion about scientific integrity and someone named Jarvis, ignoring Peter bending down to pick his utensil off the floor. The back of his neck still has that tell-tale blush she always teases him about. Michelle places a comforting hand on his shoulder but instead of calming him down, Peter’s spine straightens immediately and he practically tips his chair backwards to escape her touch. Helen and Bruce are still mildly arguing and don’t even glance away from each other but Michelle looks up and catches Darcy’s eyes before her blue gaze slides down to her plate.

“Are you okay, Peter?”

“Yeah,” Peter grunts, and Michelle knows that he is emphatically _not okay_ but has no idea how to proceed. She keeps forgetting that she has to treat him somewhat delicately until this all blows over but doesn’t really know _how_. The fact that he can withstand her brutal sense of humor and merciless scrutiny are the only reason they were able to initially survive as friends at first. She’s still not used to holding back on his account.

Suddenly Michelle wishes she and Peter were alone so that he wouldn’t be so embarrassed and so she wouldn’t be so awkward. He only hates her teasing in public and she probably did push a little too hard. Getting information by putting people on the spot makes her less vulnerable than asking them directly. That’s always been her way and it’s hard to stop. Obviously the previous scenario was very far-fetched, but Peter’s lack of romantic interests lately has been confusing and she wants to know what kind of girls he finds attractive, even though she knows she’s not one of those girls.

_Maybe he’s just really shy about sex?_ Michelle wonders, fairly confident that Peter didn’t get that far with Gwen. (She’s not judging, but they both seemed too wholesome for sex at sixteen with his prim and proper girlfriend.) But Michelle wants to know more than anything and dreads finding out.

(Michelle wishes more than anything she could be something special for him.)

“Who is Jarvis, Peter?” Michelle wonders aloud, hopefully changing the subject in a slightly better direction. This seems to be a safe subject because Peter adopts a thoughtful look.

“Jarvis is Tony’s original A.I. whose, uh, _personality_ kind of got grafted into The Vision,” Peter explains. “I wasn’t around for it, but Rhodey told me one day. F.R.I.D.A.Y. is a more recent A.I. that he was forced to use instead. Tony had Jarvis for years and he named the program after his old butler that helped raise him.”

“That’s…very sentimental of him.”

“Tony pretends he isn’t sentimental at all, but he totally is,” Peter says knowingly. “Pepper says he’s always had a grand piano in every house he’s lived in. It’s the only thing he makes sure he orders himself; usually Pepper or a team of decorators orders everything else. I guess it’s because of his mom, but I only know that from watching the MIT video like everyone else. I don't think he'd ever admit it outright.”

“My mom played a little piano,” Michelle says quietly, almost inaudible due to Bruce and Helen animatedly discussing someone named Samuel Sterns. She knows Peter has no problem hearing her, though. “Back before they died, we all lived in a slightly bigger apartment and there was a piano there.”

“Did she ever teach you?”

“She tried, but I never had the patience for it. I was nine and thought it was lame. I regret that, now.”

“It’s nice you actually remember your parents. I don’t remember mine, not even a little.” From anyone else it would be resentful or accusatory, but Peter sounds only wistful and sweet.

Michelle clears her throat. “I shouldn’t have teased you earlier. You can do whatever you want at college, you know.”

_Like bang a bunch of gorgeous girls at school because it’s not like you answer to me._

It hurts to admit but it’s true.

“You can’t honestly think I’d make something like a sex robot, right?” Peter is fondly exasperated. “That's just ridiculous.”

“I mean, you wouldn’t have to bother. You’ve never had any problems getting girls.”

Michelle’s eyes go straight to the crease in Peter’s forehead when he frowns. “How do you figure that?”

Setting her shoulders and making sure that Bruce, Helen, and Darcy are not looking at them, Michelle presses on. “I mean, you were little better than a stammering mess in front of Liz on your good days. You constantly stared at her relentlessly _and_ creepily and frequently bailed on the one thing she was passionate about—the team. Yet the very first time you ask her out, she says yes, despite being two years older and the most popular girl in school. Then Gwen transfers to our school and once again, she’s totally enamored with you and you two end up dating less than a month later.”

“I really stressed over them, MJ. It wasn't a walk in the park” 

“But you didn’t _have_ to stress over them, obviously. All you had to do is ask, and _boom_ , it’s that easy for you,” Michelle says, trying not to sound bitter.

“Michelle, it’s _really_ not as easy as you’re making it sound,” Peter snaps.

“You’re trying to tell me there’s a girl out there that won’t fall for you?” Michelle continues. “You literally just asked out the two hottest girls in the entire school and they say yes. It must be nice.”

“That’s not why I asked them out, you know,” Peter seethes. “I didn’t just like them because they were pretty.”

“It’s okay to have a type, Peter,” Michelle reasons, not seeing why he’s getting upset. The last thing Michelle wants to do is make Peter think she has an axe to grind against _Saint Gwen_. “I don’t mean anything against them.”

“Then why bring them up at all?” Peter demands.

“I guess because you always aim for the stars—the prettiest, smartest, most popular girls and they turn out to be really sweet. I don’t have good luck with this kind of stuff. I mean, just look at Harry. The richest, best-looking guy in school kinda has a thing for me and then turns out to be a homicidal maniac.”

“Harry doesn’t count; it was all one-sided. You’re you, so I want to say you have good taste, but you’ve never mentioned liking _anyone_ in school.”

Peter's voice is almost heated and he levels this at her like an accusation, like her avoidance of discussing her love life (or lack thereof) is somehow a character deficiency; like it _bothers him._

Michelle presses her lips together. “I’ve only ever met one guy I liked enough to even consider being with. But I’m not charming like you, or at least endearing, so I know it would never work because he deserves someone more like him—someone considerate.”

Peter looks like he wants to fight someone. “Do I know him?”

Michelle laughs at his protectiveness. “Yeah, but if you knew who it was, you’d agree with me that I’m just not his type.”

Clearly, Peter’s not sure if he should look reassuring or inconsolable or outraged. “How do you know that? Is he gay?”

Michelle’s cackle would have pulled Bruce and Helen from their heated discussion had they not already left some time prior (seriously, when did they leave? Michelle can honestly say she has no idea) and Darcy is politely ignoring them across the table on her phone digging through her third helping of basmati.

“He’s definitely not gay,” Michelle reassures him. She pauses, thinking about how to phrase it. “I guess I’d have to say that this guy likes the kinds of girls _you_ like.”

Michelle’s actually impressed because that’s totally not a lie.

“And they’re so much different than you?” Peter asks, and she’s not expecting that but her rebuttal is almost automatic.

“Well, yeah, they're totally different. You like pretty girls, first and foremost. And then there’s me.”

As if sensing how poorly this is going, Darcy actually gets up wordlessly and leaves her plate behind, probably ready to circle back and clean up after the coast is clear.

“I’m still not really seeing this big difference you’re talking about,” Peter informs her dryly.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“What? No! Why?”

“Peter, I’m not—” Michelle’s hands clench around empty air as she looks at Peter’s expectant face. “I’m not _pretty_.

It’s Peter’s turn to laugh, although he quickly stops when he sees Michelle’s face. “You seriously think that?”

“This isn’t just about how I look because Harry kicked my ass a few days ago,” Michelle intones. “I know what I see when I look in a mirror on a daily basis.”

“Do you by any chance know what anyone else sees, because there’s a serious disconnect,” Peter retorts.

“This isn’t a joke, asshole,” Michelle hisses.

“I don’t even know what we’re joking about!” Peter squawks, raising his hands defensively. “I’m certainly not joking about anything!”

“Why would there be a difference between what I see and what the world does?”

“MJ, if you were any other girl I’d say you’re fishing for compliments,” Peter sighs and glances at the ceiling. “Has it occurred to you that maybe Harry has been insufferable towards you at school because he thinks you’re pretty?”

“Um, _no_ ,” Michelle deadpans. “I would actually have to be pretty for me to think that. For some reason he wanted to get into my pants but I don’t think my looks had anything to do with it. Or maybe he has weird taste.”

Peter honest-to-God _facepalms_. “I shouldn’t have to explain to someone that they’re pretty. Why don’t you think you’re pretty, MJ?”

“Because my hair is a mess and I don’t wear any makeup and at school I dress like I work in a salvage yard,” Michelle replies.

“You do realize that none of that actually impacts how attractive a man might find you?”

“Flash says my vibe is too militantly feminist to attract any man, and while I normally don’t listen to him, he’s dumb enough to align with wide-spread male attitudes towards women and I kind of assumed he was onto something.”

Peter is clearly not impressed by this answer, so she takes a deep breath before continuing. “Also, I know who the prettiest girls in school are. I look nothing like them.”

“That’s not really how it works,” Peter explains. “I think you’re pretty and I even told you earlier today, and it wasn’t a pity compliment, MJ.”

“Is this like some kind of ‘inner beauty’ consolation bullshit?”

“ _No_ ,” Peter stresses emphatically. "Christ."

“I guess if you think I’m okay looking, I can write it off as a character defect on your part.”

Peter rolls his eyes but correctly guesses that’s as good as he’s going to get. “What about you thinking Harry Osborne is attractive? Can you explain it to me? I'm very confused.”

_That’s easy_ , Michelle thinks, _because he reminds me a little of you. Same awkward, earnest white intellectual geek vibe._

“I guess he’s just got a look I like?” Michelle offers weakly. “Maybe I have a type, too.”

“Pale? Nerdy? Creepy?”

The problem is that Michelle has never been able to admit to anyone that she finds Peter attractive in so many words. No one at school could be trusted and the deepest conversation she’s had with Kevin has consisted of what kind of gluten-free bread to buy. She’s never had to justify Peter’s attractiveness to anyone but herself, and in her mind, it’s kind of self-explanatory. She just likes what she likes.

Michelle finds herself shrugging. “That’s oversimplifying, but it works for him. His eyes are pretty too. Plus he’s kind of secretive, and it made him more interesting until I learned firsthand that he was a dick. It’s hard to be interesting when you’re in high school.”

“You manage to be.”

“Well, so do you,” Michelle concedes.

“Yeah, but you do it without having an alter-ego that fights crime. I have to actively save the world to be interesting and you do it by opening a book.”

Michelle smiles at his sincerity. “No wonder Liz and Gwen wanted to go out with you. Listen to all that charm.”

“I’m not saying that to be charming,” Peter counters. He runs his hand through his hair like Michelle wanted to do earlier and heaves a weary sigh. “So, are you going to tell me more about this mystery guy you want to date?”

“Absolutely not,” Michelle swears.

“Do I know him?”

“You’ve definitely met him,” Michelle concedes.

“Are you afraid I’ll make fun of him?”

“You’d probably commend me for my choice but also think I was trying to punch outside of my weight class.”

“Oh my God, a sports analogy,” Peter laughs when Michelle shoves him. His guileless expression almost undoes her as he patiently waits for her to answer his original question.

“I don’t deserve him,” Michelle says quietly, “which is why I could never bear to tell him how I feel. He’d be so nice about letting me down gently and I couldn’t bear the pity. I’ll admire him from afar, where it’s safe.”

Michelle imagines Peter’s pained expression is an echo of her own. “That sounds awful, MJ.”

“Well, I’d rather settle than risk losing a friend altogether.” It’s said with such obstinance that Peter gives her a look of concern.

“I mean, I thought Ned and I were your only friends,” Peter says carefully after a moment.

“Ned doesn’t really count,” Michelle mutters. “He only talks to me because you do. And I have other friends, by the way.”

“Like this guy you managed to keep secret from me for how long?” Peter deadpans.

Michelle blinks. “It’s complicated.”

“I guess I thought you trusted me a little more, Michelle,” it’s uttered almost indifferently, but it’s suffused by hurt.

“I don’t trust anyone with my feelings, Peter, not even me,” Michelle snaps, the words just rushing out. “Don’t you know what that feels like, to be at someone else’s mercy like that?”

Peter frowns and looks away. “Contrary to what you might think, yeah, I know what it’s like to have feelings for someone that aren’t returned. It sucks when you’re in love with the best person you know and they don’t love you back. Unfortunately I don't have any advice for you on that one.”

Standing abruptly, Peter thoughtfully cleans off his plate in the trashcan before rinsing it out in the sink as Michelle racks her brain trying to think of who he’s talking about. Maybe someone in middle school? She’s studying the rim of her teacup so hard that she barely realizes Peter has reentered her personal space to take his seat beside her.

“MJ, I promised Wanda that I’d help her with something tonight. I hope you don’t mind.”

Trying not to look too stunned, Michelle smiles slightly. “I didn’t know you and Wanda were that close.”

“I mean, we’re not _especially_ close, but she asked me for my help and she's still my friend and teammate. I’ll catch up with you at breakfast, okay?”

“Just out of curiosity, what are you going to be doing?” Michelle barely manages to catch him before he disappears.

Pausing for only a second, Peter shrugs. “Uh, Wanda asked that I not tell anyone. Sorry!”

Michelle watches Peter beat a hasty retreat before similarly disposing of her leftovers and plate.

True to her original assumption, Darcy slinks around the corner once Peter is gone and gives her a look of disbelief.

“So Michelle, remember that thing I told you to do?”

“You wanted me to imagine how Peter would act if he felt the same way about me that I do about him.”

“And how would you say that’s going for you?”

“I mean, there’s only a point in doing that if he does, and he clearly doesn’t. I know you were listening to us just now. He has a _secret crush_! He said he knows the feeling of unrequited love and he hasn’t told me about _anyone_ in the past _two years_! Why hasn’t he told me about _her_?”

Darcy suddenly looks very ill and realizing she didn’t return her medicine, Michelle throws it to her. Almost absently, Darcy manages to catch it and studies it with confusion. “What’s this for?”

Michelle gives her a stern glare. “You look like you need it.”

With a shake of her head and her curls, Darcy waves off Michelle’s concern. “Michelle, my current affliction has nothing to do with heartburn, trust me.”

“You’re staring at me,” Michelle says reproachfully after a moment. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m trying to figure out how you got into Harvard, that’s all.”

“Not cool, Darcy.”

“Whatever, I’m going to clean up the plates that Bruce and Helen must assume put themselves away and then I’m going to help myself to a bowl of the rice pudding they forgot to eat.”

“Rice pudding sounds gross.” It’s immature, but Michelle feels like sulking, because hey, _Peter's got a secret crush._

Darcy rolls her eyes and scoops a dish out for Michelle. She slides in across the table so aggressively that it nearly goes sailing over the edge.

“Michelle, you probably inadvertently convinced Peter you’re in love with another man. I know self-preservation is important to you, but if you don’t put yourself out there at least the tiniest bit, you don’t deserve to get anything back in return. I know you want to stay safe, but we want to see Peter happy, too, and that won't happen until you work through whatever you're going through.”

“Darcy, Peter said he’s in love with the _best person he knows_. How can I compete with that?”

“Fuck this, I’m taking the whole thing,” Darcy mutters, completely ignoring Michelle and taking the entire bowl of rice pudding with her out of the kitchen.

All alone, Michelle stares at the dessert in front of her, sniffing whatever spice is on top only to find out that it's _cinnamon_. Fucking weird. As she shovels rice pudding into her mouth, she wonders how she’s going to kill an evening when everyone she wants to talk to is either off-site or pissed off at her.

_There's only one thing that will cheer me up right now_ , Michelle thinks sagely. Walking over the common room and plopping herself down in front of the enormous big screen television, she plays one of her favorite movies, one that Peter claims he can't stand.

She's barely made it past the first four minutes of The Princess Bride before a voice in the back of the room commands F.R.I.D.A.Y. to pause the film. Michelle turns around to see who it is and is glad she's sitting down. She certainly doesn't expect what happens next.


	10. I'm Quiet When You Make Me Fade

It’s an irrational thought given the circumstances, but Michelle wonders how it’s possible that four women snuck up on her whilst wearing motherfucking _high heels_. They’re well-dressed and gorgeous and _scary_ and Michelle feels her heart hammer in her chest because they do not look like the type to find her sarcasm cute or funny and it’s what she relies on when she’s in uncomfortable in threatening situations…just like this one. She doesn’t think she can talk her way out if things go south.

“Can I help you?” Michelle offers weakly, shrugging but also making sure to expose her empty palms.

“I was not aware anyone new had security clearance to be on the residential floors.”

It sounds almost like an accusation. But Michelle has no rebuttal to that particular allegation uttered by the woman standing closest to her, the one that must have ordered the AI to pause her film. Her accent is heavy, and it’s one Michelle can’t immediately place. Of the four intruders, she’s the one with the longest hair, although the tightly-curled strands are shorter than the length of Michelle’s pinky finger.

“Um,” Michelle can barely stammer before all four women begin advancing towards her. She doesn’t see any weapons but these women don’t look like they need them. The one closest to her raises her hand like she’s about to grab her arm and Michelle retreats until her back hits the wall.

Michelle is _scared_ and Peter is only God-knows-where. F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s name hovers in her throat but no one she can summon will be able to save her in time.

“Good evening.”

The women immediately stand down but Michelle doesn’t feel any safer. She has no idea who they are—Peter’s never mentioned them before—and Peter talks about _everybody_. Only when Michelle spots the impressive and vaguely familiar figure standing behind them does understanding finally begin to dawn. In elegantly measured steps, the man closes the distance between them and extends his large palm.

"Michelle Jones, I presume? It's nice to meet you. I am T’Challa."

Taking T’Challa’s large outstretched hand, Michelle gives her best firm handshake before leaning back against the wall and clutching her pearls. T’Challa is perhaps the most stunning person she’s ever seen in real life. He looks even more striking than in photos—and Michelle has not been shy about Google image searching him, to be completely honest.

 _This?_ This is star-struck. Not even meeting Captain America compares to meeting _the king of Wakanda_. T'Challa is handsome, brilliant, courageous, insanely powerful and richer than even Tony Stark. He’s so impressive and Michelle never even dared to _hope_ she’d lay eyes on him, let alone shake his hand. T’Challa is mystery _personified_ surrounded by powerful and intriguing women. 

_Praise Jesus, at least I’m not wearing sweatpants while I stare at him like a fool_.

“Hi.”

“I apologize if the Dora Milaje made you feel threatened.”

Michelle waves a hand dismissively despite the fact her adrenaline spike obviously hasn’t quite worn off. “I guess it just means they’re really good at their jobs. How did you know who I was, by the way?”

T’Challa appears puzzled. “Peter Parker speaks of you frequently.”

“That’s weird, but I meant how did you know that _I’m_ the girl he allegedly told you about?”

At the word _allegedly_ she notes that T’Challa’s eyebrows twitch but he doesn’t seemed surprised at the question before answering. “Peter also frequently shows me pictures of you.”

She’s pretty sure they’re not supposed to be emoting, but several of the Dora Milaje are openly grinning and apparently _every_ woman thinks Peter’s adorable as fuck, even lethal bodyguards of foreign heads of state. 

(Michelle kind of hates being one of those girls sometimes. Also Peter is showing pictures of her to the king of _Wakanda_ and really, what is Michelle’s life right now?) 

“I’m so sorry,” Michelle apologizes. “I can’t imagine why Peter would do that.”

“You look embarrassed,” T’Challa says, not unkindly. “His behavior is not uncommon in young men proud to show off their relationships.”

Michelle opens her mouth before snapping it shut. She blinks twice before speaking. “So, what brings you to the compound?” 

It’s a weak attempt at conversation, but she has no idea what proper protocol is. Is small talk expected? Is it frowned upon? She’s not sure how to interact with a king.

Recognizing her discomfort and finding it amusing, T’Challa tries not to grin outright. “I was just in the neighborhood.”

“On the other side of the planet, randomly, for no reason…” Michelle trails off because her sass will just not quit.

“I had planned to consult with Doctor Cho on a project but she has more urgent matters to attend to. She does not take kindly to interruptions when she’s on the verge of a breakthrough and Doctor Banner managed to warn me away before I passed the threshold and entered her crosshairs.”

“I kind of gathered that about her,” Michelle concedes. “But she’s still very nice. All of the scientists that work with the Avengers are, even the guy that’s supposed to be angry all the time. Annie would _love_ your suit, by the way.”

T’Challa smiles. “Doctor Yinsen does indeed love my suit. Did you know that before he passed away, her father was one of the few scientists Wakanda collaborated with during my father’s reign? On one of his visits, his daughter insisted that I watch this film. I have not seen it in over twenty years.”

Michelle imagines a young Prince T’Challa and a young Doctor Antonia Yinsen in the mid-nineties watching movies together while their dads consulted with each other on science projects and technological advancements. It’s a cute picture, until Michelle remembers that they lost their fathers to war and terrorism. 

Absently, Michelle wonders if the inscription in Annie’s book was written by her father. 

“Are you alright, Miss Jones?” T’Challa’s voice is mild; Michelle realizes she just kind of spaced out on him for a minute there.

“The movie just started,” Michelle finds herself saying. “Did you want to watch it with me?”

It’s a polite offer Michelle expects him to graciously decline. When he smiles and calls her on her whim, Michelle could just _die_ and he knows it. In unison with their king, the Dora seat themselves next to her a courteous distance away. Michelle can feel blood rushing to her face and tries not to squirm. If Michelle can meet Captain America and Tony Stark and not lose her shit, she can handle royalty, right? It’s just for two hours and it’s not like she has to talk.

 _He’s only the king of the most technologically advanced country in the world_ , Michelle reasons, trying to stay calm. _So what if he’s sitting three feet away watching a nerdy eighties movie with a high school student?_

The overwhelming and irrational urge to laugh hysterically overtakes her and she manages to turn her tense chuckle into a convincing-sounding cough when T’Challa mouths along when Inigo Montoya says, “I do not think it means what you think it means.”

T’Challa merely smiles. “I do also have access to the internet and I know what memes are, Miss Jones.”

Michelle can only smile nervously. _I guess I never put much stock in what Peter told me about T’Challa because never in a million years did I think that he would_ meet _me. At least Peter isn’t here to watch me act like a giddy idiot._.

It’s hardly the relaxing evening Michelle originally hoped for, but finding out T’Challa is a really good troll is restoring her faith in humanity. To her surprise, neither the Dora Milaje nor their king touches their phone for the duration of the movie. She’s not sure what she expected from them, but total engagement to something so trivial isn’t it. She decides she’s not going to either, and it’s harder than she could ever imagine. Usually people ignore her after awhile, but she’s distinctly aware of anywhere from two-to-five sets of eyes on her at any given time and doesn’t want to _fidget_.

Even seated, the Dora Milaje still amaze her. Michelle is shamelessly eyeing the one sitting in front of her—the one wearing a black dress and tiny gold earrings. The way she manages to sit _still_ is oddly what impresses Michelle first. As someone who frequently shifts and slouches, she never gives off the impression that she’s comfortable in her own skin, and she’s never been more aware of it now, surrounded by five incredibly composed and magnificent individuals in total control of themselves—their elegant appearance down to their understated sense of individual style and their goddamned _breathing_. 

Michelle can’t help but full-body cringe during some parts of the movie. It must be a special kind of torture for the Dora to watch. It’s a movie she loves not due to great acting or groundbreaking effects or an amazing story, but because it was the one movie both of her parents and brother could agree on watching that wouldn’t ignite an argument. The Jones family was not ever known for sharing similar tastes in music or film; it’s _still_ not. She doesn’t dare watch it at home out of fear it’ll trigger Kevin. He won’t get angry (he never does), but he’ll grow even more distant and his typical coolness is hard enough to deal with as it is.

She thinks it’s kind of funny how the Avengers compound, far removed from everything she’s ever known, is somehow giving her a safe space to think about something she hasn’t allowed herself time to think about recently—her family. Michelle has never had _anyone_ to talk to about her parents’ deaths with, and finally, she feels like she’s around a group of people that might understand.  
Even if she doesn’t discuss it, these people _know_. That in itself is a novel experience.

 _I never gave myself the luxury of thinking about this stuff back home. Even though Peter lost his uncle, he still had someone left that he could talk to about it, someone comforting. Kevin makes sure I’m fed and watered but I just_ can’t _talk about anything with him. Reading kept me occupied during my early teens, and I guess I never realized how much I gradually relied on Peter’s company over the years. Not that I’m faultless, but it really stung when he decided he was done with me for the day. I still need him, and he’s not here._

Originally, Michelle had hoped that T’Challa’s presence would chase away her maudlin thoughts from earlier, but they come drifting back. Without Peter’s presence nearby (even though all he ever does is bitch if she mentions this movie), Michelle feels aching loneliness start to creep in and she resents herself for relying on him so much and resents him for leaving her, even though he’s already done plenty for her. At the conclusion, Michelle turns to T’Challa and finds he’s regarding her quite openly. She didn’t realize the back of her head was so interesting, except when she remembers how she toyed with her scarf for duration the entire film out of nervousness.

“Your Majesty, I was wondering why you listened to Doctor Yinsen’s suggestion to watch this. It’s not really…sophisticated? I guess that’s the right word. I don’t know what kinds of movies appeal to royalty.”

“This film is not necessarily a favorite but it reminds me of a more uncomplicated time in my life. And I watched it back in the nineties because Antonia made me.” 

T’Challa’s wry smile is completely unexpected.

“She _made_ you? Like, physically?” 

“She told me she wouldn’t share any more music with me until I did.”

“Music such as…?” Michelle’s eyebrows slowly raise but T’Challa’s smile is confirmation he’s not going to reveal what she wants to know.

“I think it would be more fun not to tell you.”

Michelle has to act consciously to prevent her jaw from hanging open but refuses to give him the satisfaction. “That’s fine. I’ll just ask Annie.”

“I’ll just ask Antonia not to tell you,” T’Challa countered. His phone appears in his hand almost like magic.

Opening her mouth to protest, she realizes before she can utter a word that he’s joking. “Why are you like this?”

“Forgive me for teasing,” T’Challa implores, “Did I wrongly presume that one of Peter’s closest friends would share his propensity to torment his acquaintances?”

“I guess you got me there,” Michelle counters with a shrug. “We’re both pretty ridiculous sometimes.”

“I am surprised he’s not with you at the moment.”

“If you would have said that a few hours ago, I’d agree with you,” Michelle grumbles. 

“But not now?”

Michelle takes a deep breath and manages not to release the air in a lovesick sigh. “Not now.”

“Does he not fear something will happen to you in his absence?”

“Probably not,” Michelle ventures. “The whole reason I’m staying here is because something happened at school. What could possible happen at the compound?”

“My Dora Milaje confronted you,” T’Challa points out. “They would not have harmed you, especially since you would not put up a fight, but there are dangerous people moving through here at various times. I doubt Peter is here often enough to be aware of that, since he lives in the city.”

“What do you mean, since I wouldn’t put up a fight?”

“When confronted by them, you attempted to retreat instead of fight back. And you clearly pose no risk.”

Michelle wants to argue on principle, but her face is still banged up and she just _looks_ like she got her ass kicked recently. She can tell from his tone he’s not trying to be insulting.

“I guess it’s been a few years since those self-defense classes at the YMCA,” Michelle muses. “Not that they would have helped in this case.”

“Has Peter never shown you any basic moves?”

“I’ve seen footage of Peter lifting a car, so it’s not really necessary for him to be a stickler for form,” Michelle reasons. “I don’t really think he needs to ‘know’ how to fight? I admittedly don’t understand how any of that works.”

“Perhaps if he had a better grasp of basic hand-to-hand combat he would not feel so helpless in his current state,” mutters one of the Dora. 

“It’s not that simple,” Michelle says defensively. “Not even Bruce knows everything about his condition. And has it occurred to you that maybe I didn’t want to learn about fighting?”

A firm look from T’Challa wordlessly dismisses the Dora and Michelle can feel some of her tension melting away as they filter out. She’s still a little sore that one of them took a shot like that at Peter. It’s not _his_ responsibility to see that she’s looked after. Michelle is her own goddamned person; Peter doesn’t ever speak for her or make her decisions or push her into situations she’s not comfortable in. 

Michelle is decidedly uncomfortable with combat.

“Given what’s happened, are you opposed to learning now?” T’Challa inquires sincerely. “As one of Peter’s teammates, I could surely secure a better teacher for you than you’d find at a community center.” 

Michelle isn’t sure what to say. The idea of being able to defend herself is appealing, but she will never fight the way Peter does. She won’t ever suit up and join warriors on the frontlines. That’s not her style—and she’s okay with that. Her most powerful weapon will always be a keyboard. But it makes her reflect on how different she and Peter really are. 

“Doctor Cho will be indisposed for the rest of the evening, and my meetings with Doctor Foster and Doctor Yinsen are flexible enough that I could spare one of my Dora Milaje to train with you for the duration of my stay if you wish.”

Fighting the urge to pass out, Michelle is _so_ glad she’s sitting down. “That’s such a gracious offer.”

“Peter asks for very little as an Avenger. As his friend and teammate, I would be honored to assist him.”

“I honestly don’t know what Peter would think if I took you up on it,” Michelle ruminates. “He’s never really expressed an opinion or extended an offer, but maybe he never thought I’d need that kind of help. I never expected a super villain to attack my school, although he’s still technically a student, I guess.”

“Has the young man been arrested yet?” T’Challa questions.

“I haven’t heard that he was,” Michelle admits, “although his identity is known, so I guess it’s a matter of time before they find him.”

“Being the victim of a violent attack can have more than physical consequences,” T’Challa remarks casually. 

Michelle looks at him from beneath her lashes before glancing away. “Annie suggested I visit a therapist if I felt like I had to talk about it. I’m really okay. I wouldn’t be comfortable talking about it to a stranger.”

“Sometimes they’re the easiest ones to talk to, so I’ve been told,” T’Challa muses. “You don’t have to keep up appearances because they don’t know you.”

And yeah, that kind of makes sense, but Michelle is still disinterested in doing that. “Did you mean what you said, about having one of the Dora assist me? They wouldn’t find it demeaning or inconvenient?”

“I think they would enjoy the challenge.”

“Regimented physical activity…my favorite thing,” Michelle considers out loud, sarcasm clear.

“That’s not a no,” T’Challa says challengingly.

“That’s not a no,” Michelle agrees. “When do I start?”

-

 _I didn’t know I could get criticized for_ breathing _incorrectly, and yet here I am_.

The room she’s in, Michelle’s been informed, is often used as a dance studio by Natasha Romanov. It’s lined with mirrors, which are definitely not one of Michelle’s favorite things, but the overall ambience is tranquil compared to what she imagines the other practice rooms are like. She tries very hard to concentrate on the task at hand and not the multiple images of her that she glimpses out of the corner of her eye every time she looks away from her trainer.

Nakia, the poor soul tasked with helping her, is the one who nearly grabbed her arm upstairs. She’s still wearing high heels and bracelets, which Michelle finds oddly intimidating. Even wearing things that one might be uncomfortable or distracting, she radiates self-assurance in a way that incites a little jealousy. No one Michelle has ever met has exuded such _presence_ before. It’s almost like tangible energy she can feel just by standing close to her. 

(She gets the same impression from T’Challa, but it might also just be nerves.)

Nakia’s accented voice is very measured and pleasant. “I know you must find the basics a little boring, but the first lesson is always proper breathing and stances. This lesson is strictly no-contact, which is why I did not tell you to change.”

“Honestly, this kind of stuff is probably more my speed.”

Michelle tries harder to obey the instructions issued to her and manages to breathe in a way her trainer finds satisfactory. It’s something she’s never really thought about much before and it makes her _even more self-conscious_. But she’s read that all fighters, even snipers, go through training for their breathing. If there’s a non-violent way to give her an edge, she’ll take it.

“Ayo hurt your feelings upstairs when she implied Peter did teach you this out of ignorance or negligence.”

Michelle purses her lips when she feels her breathing falter and realizes it was intentional on Nakia’s part. “I’m just a high school student. I don’t have special powers and I’m not part of a superhero team. Although I wish I did know how to properly punch Harry in the face because now everyone thinks I’m a damsel in distress.”

“You are only a damsel if you have nothing at your disposal when you’re threatened. Your resources need not be solely physical. A sharp mind and a calm demeanor will serve you better than a strong fist.”

“That doesn’t sound impressive, but making good decisions is probably a more important life skill than a powerful uppercut.”

Michelle is painfully aware of Nakia’s silent scrutiny as she attempts to control her breathing and posture the way she was instructed to. It’s hard, because she’s not used to people paying attention to her—quite the opposite, in fact. Nakia is just _looking_ for her to screw up so she can critique her.

“Good decisions can prevent conflict altogether. Knowing when to be compassionate and when to be merciless may prevent threats from escalating. I can see from your expression you have doubts about this.”

“If I would have been nicer to Harry, would he have still attacked me in the library? He asked me out a bunch of times and I wasn’t always kind about saying no.”

A dark look flashes momentarily over Nakia’s face. Michelle can’t imagine anyone being able to insinuate themselves with her if she didn’t want it before realizing that maybe she wasn’t in a position to deny her king and former prince if he had propositioned her in such a way. 

After a beat, Nakia finally speaks. “You should not have to compromise your own feelings and comfort to accommodate anyone interested in you romantically. If he continued to bother you in such a way, it’s likely he would have moved against you regardless to get what he wanted.”

“I don’t know what he wanted, in the end,” Michelle admits. “I’m trying not to think about it, but what was he trying to accomplish by attacking me at school? There were witnesses there. And he knew Peter was in the same after-school club that I was. He _knew_ Peter’s secret identity. I’m sure I was just a means to an end and I’m so pissed at Harry for using me to hurt him.”

Nakia’s cool palm closes around Michelle’s clenched fist and she flinches, not expecting the contact. “Then you must make sure you are not a liability.”

It’s Michelle’s deepest, darkest fear. 

She _will not_ be another Gwen or Uncle Ben, another regret yoked across Peter’s shoulders as he swings through the city and walks through the halls of their school. But Michelle is physically defenseless and has no special powers or training. 

Peter’s starting to smile easily again for the first time since Gwen died and Thanos invaded. Some of his guilt and worry are _finally_ lifting away. The heaviness of his disappointment in his abilities breaks her heart. She doesn’t want to be another situation where he’ll beat himself up because he thinks he should have been able to do _more_.

Even more than her fear of rejection, it’s why Michelle’s been avoiding her feelings. They’re so petty in the face of everything he’s going through; she has no business bringing them up. In her opinion, her “I love you” would burden him more than benefit him, especially because he’s not in love with her back. She doesn’t want him at risk or compromised because he’s worrying about how to be gentle with her unwanted feelings. 

Peter always _worries_.

If something happens to her and Peter knows about her unrequited love, his guilt totally consume him. Michelle won't allow that to happen.

“Michelle.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a million miles away.” 

“You won’t learn anything as distracted as you are.”

“I’m sorry.”

Nakia regards her evenly. “The women that comprise the Dora are selected at a young age. They're raised to serve and it’s an incredible honor, but even a lifetime dedicated to a cause cannot prepare you for every scenario. It is no easy thing to find yourself in an unwelcome situation you didn’t ask for and aren’t prepared to handle.”

Michelle can barely bring up her slumped shoulders to manage a shrug. “I don’t want to stop altogether, but maybe enough for tonight?”

“Wear more comfortable clothing tomorrow. We’ll try something else that won’t allow you to get lost in your own thoughts. I will have Stark’s A.I. message you later with the time.”

Michelle nods. “Thank you for teaching me. I mean, I guess you didn’t have a choice, but still.”

Nakia gives her a crooked smile, one Michelle would never imagine her capable of. “I actually volunteered.”

“What?”

“Have a good night, Miss Jones.”

“Um, you too,” Michelle stammers, wondering why _any_ of them would take on the burden of her as their student. She watches Nakia leave, still transfixed by how regally she carries herself. 

When she’s finally alone, Michelle hurriedly unwraps her hair and studies her reflection briefly in the closest mirror. It’s a relief; she doesn’t really find wearing scarves comfortable, only practical so her fringe doesn’t flop everywhere. After picking at it absently for a minute with her fingers, her hair is bigger than normal and still the unmanageable, untamed mess it always is, but it’s relaxing to wear it down and Michelle relishes the familiar weight against her cheeks and shoulders.

On autopilot, her feet automatically retrace their steps towards her bedroom a few floors below and Michelle finds herself walking past the fifth floor common room that Peter mentioned was used frequently by Wanda and Pietro and Vision. In that moment, she’d forgotten completely that he said he’d be there tonight.

There is no sign of the male twin or the android, but Michelle is frozen by the sight of Wanda Maximoff sitting next to Peter Parker on a couch. An acoustic guitar is perched in her lap, the decorative strap slung across the impressive shoulders of her finely-tailored blazer. Peter has a guitar of his own and appears to be strumming something rudimentary. His pace is slow and he only uses a few different chords.

Every so often Peter makes a mistake and Wanda laughs and corrects him. Michelle sees very little of the witch portrayed in the media. She knows about some of the bad things that Wanda’s done—things Michelle knows personally she would have a hard time overlooking—but Wanda hardly looks like she’s capable of doing them in her current state. All Michelle sees is an attractive woman in her mid-twenties giving a guitar lesson. She doesn’t seem to be any of the things Michelle initially feared. Until—

_Is Wanda the best person Peter knows?_

Michelle can’t help but think of what Peter said earlier in the kitchen. She doubts it, or at least wants to, because Peter had said he wasn’t close to Wanda, but had also taken the consideration to mention the word “especially.” Did that mean he wanted to be “especially” close with her in the future? Michelle can feel her pulse race all over one stupid word.

Before she can bring herself to do something stupid—like accidentally enter their line of sight—Michelle feels something brush by her. She feels a puff of air against her face and her hair moves.

“Huh?” whips her head around when someone taps her on the shoulder and catches something whiz past her again. Within two seconds she finds something pressed into her palm—a flower.

Michelle identifies the bloom as a daisy. She holds it about an arm’s length away from her face, utterly perplexed. The blur stops about two feet away from her upon noticing her mystified expression. 

Eyes widening when she recognizes the elder Maximoff twin, Michelle barely prevents herself from protectively flattening herself against a wall. 

“You are Michelle Jones, correct?” Nodding numbly, Michelle can only point to the flower in her hand.

“What’s the matter with it?” 

“Nothing, I’m just wondering why you gave me this.”

“ Одузимаш ми дах.”

Realizing the unimpressed look on her face won’t leave until he translates, he repeats what he said, but in English. Blinking, Michelle can feel her apprehension leaching out of her, because she can totally shut this down with ease.

“Do you feed lines to every girl that walks on this floor?”

“Only to pretty ones.”

Michelle starts laughing, because this? This is rich. This whole fucking night is one crazy roller coaster adrenaline ride and it’s not even ten thirty.

“Why are you laughing?”

“There are several reasons.”

“Are you laughing at my flower?”

“No,” Michelle admits. “It’s actually nice. Where did you even get it? It’s late March and it’s frigid outside.”

“Vision grows daisies in his greenhouse next to his herb garden.”

“Why does an android have an herb garden if he doesn’t need to eat?” 

“He cooks dinner for my sister every night. She prefers fresh ingredients.”

“I don’t want to take Wanda’s flower,” Michelle tells him diplomatically.

“I bet if I ask her, she’d let you have it.”

“No!” Michelle hisses. “Don’t bother her. She looks busy.”

“It’s just a guitar lesson,” Pietro says dismissively. For a moment he watches Peter’s fingers struggle to play the chord Wanda is showing him. “I have finally found one thing that he’s not good at.”

Michelle frowns at the sullen tone. Pietro seems almost indignant. Peter _is_ really gifted. He doesn't need to pay attention in class, which Michelle has always found aggravating. It's weirdly neat to know there's something that doesn't come easy to him.

“I didn’t know he had any interest in musical instruments,” Michelle replies when she sees Peter mess up again only to be gently corrected by Wanda. She wears a lot of pretty silver rings on her fingers.

“He has been pestering my sister for months.”

Michelle has heard Peter remark that Pietro is petulant about other people spending time with his sister because he hasn’t really made many friends with the other Avengers. She wonders if the fact he was dead and brought back to life makes it harder for him to relate with other people but wouldn’t in a million years dream of asking him that.

“Peter hasn’t gotten any better since he started?” 

“Barely, plus his taste in music is dreadful.”

Michelle finds herself nodding. “That’s certainly true sometimes.”

"It's not as bad as my sister's, though."

Vaguely aware of Pietro studying her as she unabashedly watches Wanda and Peter, she reflexively flicks a strand of hair from behind her ear to hide her face a little more from his gaze.

“So why don’t you go over and say hello to him?”

“He made it clear he would see me tomorrow morning at breakfast when he left me after dinner.” It’s said with remarkable civility, even though Michelle feels less than charitable. She _knows_ she’s not entitled to all of Peter’s time, and feels even worse for sulking over it. It’s kept her mood pretty low all night.

Pietro’s expression is unreadable for a moment before he leans forward suddenly. “Can I take your picture?”

Michelle blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“Wanda wants to meet you and she will be jealous that I met you first.”

“Why would she want to meet me?” Michelle tries not to sound aghast. 

“Every Avenger wants to meet you,” Pietro informs her casually. “I just want to brag that I met you before some of the others. Clint is bitter he got sent to the city because he wanted to see what you were like most of all. Natasha has warned me not to flirt with you too much and Sharon told me I’m supposed to convince you to join a Snapchat group.” 

“That’s—” Michelle breaks off, because it’s lots of things, but she doesn’t really want to offend Pietro or Wanda so she settles for a different approach. “I don’t understand why anyone would want to meet me, but ever since I arrived my reception has not been what I’ve expected.”

“You are _all_ Peter Parker talks about,” Pietro crows. “He is obsessed with you. I do not devote my memory reserves to such details, but he has told me about your favorite documentaries, the latest podcasts you’ve recommended to him, and the last five books you’ve read.”

“No, there's got to be someone else you're forgetting,” Michelle asserts. “He said he was in love with the best person he knows.”

“Did he say that wasn’t you?” Pietro asks.

“Why would it be me?” Michelle asks helplessly, twirling the poor daisy in her overwrought hands.

“Why wouldn’t it?” Pietro counters. “You are very smart and very beautiful—even when you look at me like that.”

Michelle practically shrieks when Pietro snaps her picture, because her resting bitch face has totally morphed into active bitch face and with her hair down, she probably looks a little wild. Plus, no one likes getting maced in the eyes by a camera flash.

“Look, just delete the picture after you show Wanda, okay? I probably look awful.”

“Hmm, my sister does not think so,” Pietro informs her when his phone buzzes.

Aghast, Michelle feels flight winning out over fight and begins a hasty retreat down the hall.

“Mischa, do not be offended!" Pietro calls after her, luckily far enough away that Wanda and Peter can't hear him. "My sister will be angry with me if I’ve upset you.”

That makes her stop in her tracks. “Mischa?”

“It is a nickname. Do you not like nicknames?”

“I don’t mind them, but why that one?”

“I was forewarned that MJ is too familiar to you, so I will work my way up to it via other nicknames.”

“You’ve set yourself a pretty unachievable goal,” Michelle says, crossing her arms at his smug expression. She knows he’s just winding her up and has no serious interest in her. "The coveted friend category hasn't had an addition since 2017."

Michelle's heart twists when he realizes the last new person she had considered a friend was, jealousy aside, _Gwen Stacy_.

“I love a good challenge, Mischa.”

“What if I never come back up here? I heard you barely leave this floor. How will you ever change my mind?”

Pietro’s mouth twists into something that is momentarily a frown before he fixes her with a steady gaze. His eyes are very piercing. "No one has dared to bring that up, not even Wanda. You are not like other girls.”

Michelle’s bravado falters just for a moment before she stuffs her hands in her pockets and resumes her walk back to her floor. “No, I’m not, Pietro, and that’s part of my problem.”


	11. This Trick We Have of Turning Love to Pain

At a kitchen table in upstate New York, Michelle can finally admit to herself that her life is really getting out of hand.

First of all, Michelle considers it a huge deal that she manages to get out of bed at a time when her meal could still be considered breakfast. After a terrible night’s sleep without Firefly and a frantic fifteen minutes looking for him without success, she feels like a truck ran her over. Even if her room had no windows, she can tell it’s raining outside; her hair is utterly massive. It’s kind of a lost cause, so Michelle has no desire to put effort into the rest of her appearance. She settles on a pair of Annie’s dress socks pulled halfway up her calves tucked into a pair of Peter’s awful athletic slide sandals. 

Now that the shock of meeting T’Challa has worn off, Michelle keeps thinking back to Peter and _the best person_. The stripes on her tank top and the plaid print of her shorts and her tall argyle socks can all party together while she tries not to scream in frustration because her brain has gone haywire. An inquiry to F.R.I.D.A.Y. assures her that no one new is on site when she wakes up, so it doesn’t matter that it looks like Lisa Frank threw up all the colors of her outfit.

Michelle’s phone buzzes, and to her dismay, it’s not a message from Peter. The sender is unknown, at least until she reads it.

**So Mischa, if your taste in music is so superior to Peter’s, what do you think is good?**

After careful consideration, Michelle’s finger hovers over one of her Spotify playlists until she suddenly changes her mind, scrolls down, and sends him something completely different. It’s not what _anyone_ would expect from an eighteen year old woman, and that’s why she likes it; hidden depths, you know? They’re songs that remind her of her parents playing vinyl records in the living room long before Michelle could ever dream they wouldn’t be in her life—it only makes sense, since they had listened those same songs when _they_ were kids too. She’s been riding the nostalgia wave for the past few days.

(Michelle recalls Peter trying to listen to classic rock to impress Tony and doesn’t think Pietro will make it past three songs. He might actually think her taste in music sucks and find her boring and then her life will go back to normal without random morning texts distracting her from the person she really wants to hear from.)

To be fair, Michelle knows she shouldn’t be bitter. But…she is. Even though none of this is her or Peter’s fault, it’s hard to maintain anger against someone she hasn’t seen in days. Harry’s out of sight, out of mind, and Peter can hardly blame _him_ for acting so hot and cold. As Michelle pads through the kitchen, her phone buzzes again.

**PETER: Can’t make breakfast or driving lesson today. I might be out of commission for awhile. Sorry.**

Michelle feels like her heart is being squeezed in her chest and then dropped through her stomach. Life is not fucking fair right now and with a little more force than necessary, she yanks open the refrigerator door. She’s kind of glad it’s sturdy, because if she opened up a cabinet with that much power it’d probably pull the door right off the hinges.

To Michelle’s dismay, the fridge is full of fresh things (dairy, vegetables, fruit), but her mind automatically catalogs them as _ingredients_ and she can’t bring herself to attempt cooking, out of apprehension and laziness. After all, Peter’s simple cooking lessons seem like they happened in another life. She settles for someone’s half-empty bag of granola and milk labeled “Fuck off, Barton” that expires that day. It’s in an old-timey looking glass bottle she’s seen from pictures of fifties shows on TV.

After shoving her spoon into her cereal bowl, Michelle re-reads Peter’s text for the eighth time cancelling their breakfast and any other pending plans due to his new treatments and tries not to sigh. It’s Sunday, her least favorite day because it signifies the end of the weekend, and even though it’s a relief not to worry about classes for another week, she also has nothing familiar to distract her from her current predicament. She isn’t able to hit up a coffee shop or visit a bookstore or take a fucking walk down to a bodega and get a sandwich and smoothie.  
Michelle can’t really _leave_ , and that’s the problem.

_I could really use a Darcy breakfast right about now, but I’m pretty sure she doesn't want to see my face after my terrible showing last night._

The food Michelle eats isn’t especially great but it’s better than what she’s used to. The loud crunch distracts her momentarily from the mess she’s slowly making of her life. She’s decided to join the Avengers Snapchat, which she might actually regret if she was brave enough to open any more of them after the first two. It doesn’t appear to be comprised of strictly Avengers—Michelle recognizes some members as frequent associates from news articles and interviews. At any rate, their Snapcat is _insanely busy_ over food, of all things, so she turns off the notifications so she can wallow in peace. 

Blessed silence lasts for seven whole minutes. There’s the sound of high heels on tile before the bright and chipper voice of Stark Industry’s CEO nearly makes Michelle choke on her stale granola. 

“Good morning, Michelle!”

_Holy shit, it’s Pepper Potts. I look like a fucking train wreck right now. Jesus. Next time I’m asking F.R.I.D.A.Y. for a goddamn schedule and itinerary._

The inimitable Ms. Potts strides over to her spot at the kitchen table, somehow resplendent even in a basic pair of black slacks and a simple blouse. Her strawberry blonde hair is just as dazzling in person as it is on the cover of _Forbes_. What Michelle never noticed before were her generous helping of freckles or deeply-etched marionette lines around her smile, which she supposes are always removed by Photoshop. She was too surprised last night to study T’Challa properly, but she takes advantage now, in the bright light, to take in the glory of one of the country’s youngest female CEOs. 

“Oh hi,” Michelle gives her a little dorky wave, because why not? It’s barely any consolation, but at least she didn’t meet T’Challa dressed like this. Michelle’s not especially shallow, but these are first impressions with people she’s read about and respected for years—literally some of the most important people in the world. They deserve better than clashing prints and bed head and terrible footwear, and so does Michelle. Her parents would be appalled.

“I know the circumstances aren’t ideal, but I hope you’re enjoying your stay,” Pepper wishes her sympathetically, and it’s genuine friendliness that Michelle hears when she speaks. “Every since Peter mentioned you liked ‘All My Puny Sorrows’ I’ve been very excited to meet you. There aren’t very many readers around here.”

“I’ve noticed,” Michelle agrees, flabbergasted. “How do you find time to read?”

“Mostly audio books, which Tony says is cheating, but I travel a lot and when I’m not feeling too much motion sickness, I usually manage to squeeze in some reading. E-Readers tend to make it worse, so I prefer actual hard copies. Peter mentioned you didn’t have many books so I brought a few for you. Sadly they’re all a few years old at least, so you can keep them if you’d like.”

“Keep them?” Michelle repeats. Pepper actually takes a seat next to her so she doesn’t loom over Michelle while she eats. It’s a considerate gesture, one she doesn’t expect from a woman that has to periodically stalk across the boardroom and assert her dominance. 

In Pepper’s pale eyes, Michelle sees acceptance and respect and it’s a little overwhelming. Michelle knows that she’s not undeserving of such things, but she’s not used to being acknowledged or recognized for much of anything. Everyone just _expects_ her to do well, so she does. It’s amazing how they just take her performance for granted. Like it’s fucking easy or something in a school full of gifted children to be distinguished.

“Happy’s bringing the books in for you; he can put them outside your room if you prefer that,” Pepper informs her. She drums her manicured nails on the tabletop. “Tony said they were starting Peter’s treatments today. Do you know when his next break in treatments is? I was hoping to say hi and drop some things off for him if possible.”

“I don’t really know his schedule today. I was curious but I feel like my questions bother them. It’s nothing they do that makes me feel that way.”

There must be something in her hurried tone, because Pepper looks thoughtful. “I feel out of place here, sometimes.” 

That’s weird, because even though they’re not together anymore, Pepper’s been with Tony since the _beginning_. Super hero lairs should be old hat. Tony and Pepper still bicker and banter in front of the press. Pepper still fixes his ties and scrunches her shoulders so she doesn’t tower over him and whispers things in his ear that make him smirk. He always says contradicts her and she always scolds him but by the end of their press conferences, he’s always glancing at her for approval and she’s always rolling her eyes indulgently.

(Even after they broke up, Michelle always thought they’d still be close forever just based on how they looked at each other.)

Pepper sighs and taps her fingers on the tabletop—a nervous gesture Michelle suspects she doesn’t allow herself to often succumb to. “I donned the Rescue armor that Tony and Doctor Yinsen made to protect me. I used it to fight against Thanos instead. I’ve always faced Tony’s enemies. I’ve even killed a few. The last place Tony ever wants me is in danger, but for awhile there, we just couldn’t seem to help it.”

“Do you resent him for it?”

“Sometimes,” Pepper says begrudgingly. “But I also resented myself for staying.” 

“I can’t imagine walking away from all this, though,” Michelle admits truthfully, mentally adding, _I could never fathom being able to give up_ Peter. _There’s a real chance I’ll never meet anyone as amazing ever again. His friendship has meant everything to me for the past two years._

Pepper gives Michelle a very discerning look. “You know, I wouldn’t have this conversation with anyone that hadn’t been invited into this house, but I trust you’ll know what to do with it. I’m not trying to discourage you in any way or tell you what to do, but be aware that as long as you’re close to Peter, your life is going to be in danger in some way. There will always be someone that won’t hesitate to use you to hurt him.”

“Is that why you and Tony aren’t together anymore?” Michelle asks, curious. 

“The first time we broke it off, it was about feeling like I came in second to the suits,” Pepper admits, surprising Michelle with her candor. “Well, there was that and I was also a nervous wreck because every time he flew away from me, I wasn’t sure if it would be the last. The second time we broke it off—after I thought the actual _world_ was going to end—I had a second chance and wanted something _ordinary_. Happy has always been there for me, more than I ever realized. I don’t have to worry about having to don armor to kill his corrupt business partners or disgraced would-be collaborators. I can have a relatively normal life with him. Tony Stark can do amazing things, but I can’t ask him to be less than he is. I stopped wanting what a superhero had to offer.” 

Michelle doesn’t know what to say. She’s still trying to process this whole other side of Peter’s life as an Avenger, as _Spider-Man_. She gets the awkward, brilliant high school senior that gets tongue-tied around beautiful women and spaces out in class. But she struggles with the fact that once he puts on the mask, there’s a huge list of people that actively try to kill him. He’s only trying to do the right thing, and they—

“Earth to Michelle?”

Embarrassed, Michelle nods. “It’s been a rough few days. I’ve met so many people and they’re mostly very nice. I know they didn’t ask for me to show up here and I’m sure I’m a huge inconvenience. I’m not normally like this, but hanging around with superheroes and scientists and kings and CEOs is not doing wonders for my self-esteem. I guess I don’t see why Peter bothers with Midtown at _all_ when there’s more important things for him to be doing. High school seems almost inconsequential by comparison.”

_And so do I._

Pepper smiles kindly. “Peter had the chance to do that right after he put Adrian Toomes away. But he elected to stay in school and protect ‘the little guy.’ Saving the world is important, but the real reason the Avengers suit up to save the people in it. Students are no less important than CEOs.”

“I guess so.”

After a moment of comfortable silence, Pepper grabs the milk bottle Michelle left out and frowns at the expiration date. “I don’t know why Sam likes raw milk so much. I think dairy in general is a little terrifying.”

“It tastes surprisingly good. I’m kind of glad I’m here, all things considered; I’ve never eaten so well. Darcy’s been feeding me the past couple nights.”

“Sunday brunch is one of her favorite things. I’m surprised she isn’t here preparing something.”

Michelle wracks her brain. “Maybe she’s working on that gala she mentioned? She said it was really soon…I think less than two weeks away.”

Pepper frowns. “That’s probably it. After what happened to Peter, Tony postponed it—I know Darcy is less than thrilled with having to reschedule everything last minute. I’m glad she’s working out well for the September Foundation. She always was a good assistant to Jane.”

“Does Doctor Foster work out of this facility?”

“Not anymore, but Doctor Selvig does, when he’s in the country.”

“It’s weird thinking about Peter spending so much time here. People are always coming and going. It doesn’t seem…stable, not that I guess I’d expect it to be.”

“Even though he’s always excited to be here, he’s always anxious to leave,” Pepper reveals quietly.

“But New York is so messy and dirty and crowded. It’s beautiful up here. There’s no pollution or noise or crowds or any of the stuff I always try to block out when I’m around but now kind of miss.”

“I’ll take a bit of peace while I’m here,” Pepper says. “Although it’s quieter up here than usual, I’d say. And I suspect that Peter’s desire to get back to the city has less to do with the missing the place itself and more to do with missing the people.”

Michelle rolls her eyes. “Peter texts Ned and May _constantly_.”

Pepper blinks before averting her eyes demurely. “I wasn’t talking about them.” 

Seeing that Michelle has finished eating, Pepper scoops up her bowl and drinking glass before Michelle can protest and places them in the sink. She pours herself a glass of organic juice from the fridge before leaning back against the counter. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you tell me what Peter’s schedule might look like today?”

“His treatments are wrapping up. Doctor Cho says he can take visitors in less than ten minutes.”

Pepper smiles. “Thank you.”

(And that’s sweet, thanking the A.I., although Michelle privately thinks of F.R.I.D.A.Y. almost like a real person. Her inflection is unreal; Michelle thinks of the miles and miles of code Tony had to write to make her so unique. She wonders _why_ , remembers the snippet of conversation about a butler named Jarvis, and vows to be more meticulous and discerning when she sees Tony Stark again.)

“You came all the way here from California, so I hate to gatecrash your visit with him,” Michelle says awkwardly. She wants to see Peter more than anything, but she has no interest in intruding. Pepper deserves a visit free of her bullshit, since she can’t seem to get herself together. It’s only polite.

“Nonsense, we can both go together,” Pepper says merrily. “Perfect timing.”

Michelle can feel her heart drop to her stomach but can summon no good reason why they _can’t_ walk down to medical together. She smiles weakly and responds appropriately to Pepper’s very easygoing small talk about the compound. Apparently the commissary serves good food and even though Michelle has a deep mistrust of S.H.I.E.L.D. (because intelligence agencies are generally shady) she vows to check it out sometime. Pepper doesn’t look like she eats any carbs but she raves about the muffins.

When they reach the medical bay, Helen and Bruce are studiously poring over test results and holographic displays. They spare Pepper and her (mostly Pepper) polite greetings before going off on some tangent Michelle can barely understand. It must be solely for their own benefit, because they have no reaction when Pepper and Michelle wander away after a moment of confusion. Peter’s section of the medical bay is not hard to find.

Michelle sneaks a glance at Peter, and he looks _awful_. She recalls him distantly before he was bitten by the spider. Peter was gangly and when he got sick, he looked utterly _wrecked_ , because he weighed next to nothing and was basically just a pair of sunken eyes and floppy hair when he dragged himself to school. He looks even worse now, like he isn’t even strong enough to lift his head from his pillow. The shadows under his eyes are substantial and Michelle sees nothing of the eager guitar student she saw only the night before. 

They must both see the same broken version of Peter Parker, but Pepper manages to act like a decent human being and pretend nothing is wrong. She appears absolutely delighted to see Peter and greets the weary-looking high school student by loudly exclaiming his name. Peter’s face lights up and he breaks out into a grin. Pepper grasps his hands, mindful of IVs, and gives them a reassuring squeeze as she gracefully sits next to his bed and folds her lanky body onto the chair.

“I brought you a visitor, Peter,” Pepper informs him, almost vibrating with excitement as she motions with her head back to where Michelle is standing awkwardly by the door. She’s still wearing her ghastly, clashing outfit but at that moment doesn’t care at all. She’s looking at the only thing that matters right now.

With apprehension, Michelle watches as Peter’s smile slowly vanishes. He adopts the closed-off expression he’s been giving her on and off since she arrived. There’s no trace of warmth in his eyes and it makes her physically sick. The pit in her stomach grows and she feels like she might honestly throw up and he hasn’t even said a word to her yet. What the hell is his problem?

“Hey Peter.” Michelle’s voice is tentative and hesitant, nothing like it normally is. It doesn’t even _sound_ like her and she’s probably making all of this worse. She likes it so much better when Peter is the strong one. 

Silence greets her. Pepper shoots her a worried look before turning back to Peter and smiling gently. “I thought maybe you’d like to see—”

“I know what you thought,” Peter snaps. “But you thought wrong.”

Hurt and shock make Michelle’s throat close up before she can sling sharp words at him—words are her only protection and her only weapon and he’s robbed her blind. 

“We wanted to see how you were doing,” Pepper says soothingly, but it has the opposite effect.

Peter huffs. He’s acting petulant like does when he’s annoyed, but Michelle can’t possibly fathom in this moment why he’s finding fault with her. She wants to be there for him, like she always does, but if he’s not going to tell how to make things better, what is there for her to do? 

“I just want to help you, Peter,” Michelle says weakly after a moment. She didn’t even feel this helpless when Harry had her at his mercy. 

“The best way to help me right now is to leave me alone, MJ,” Peter says tiredly. “I thought I made that clear when I texted you this morning.”

Somehow his dismissal stings even worse than his anger. She _cares_ about him; he doesn’t get to throw that in her face. Can’t he give her a better explanation?

“You said you couldn’t hang out for awhile, which I totally get,” Michelle says hotly, “not that you wanted me to fuck off entirely.”

“I’m receiving medical treatment, MJ,” Peter remarks coolly, and it’s so condescending that combined with her beloved nickname, Michelle flies off the handle. How fucking dare he? 

“I didn’t think a visit was overstepping, since you can clearly entertain visitors,” Michelle counters, and well, she’s got him there. Pepper is politely averting her eyes, but Peter’s expression is stormy and he looks like he’s itching for a fight. Before he can open his mouth and inflict any more damage, Michelle crosses her arms and sighs. 

“You know what, Peter? If you want me gone so badly, wish granted. Goodbye.”

Without another word, Michelle turns around and leaves. 

-

 _I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry_.

Michelle is surprised she doesn’t actually run screaming out of the medical bay. It would be a stately retreat if she was wearing a real outfit, but it’s kind of too late to salvage that particular facet of dignity. She can feel her eyelashes barely holding tears back. She doesn’t want to run into anyone but marooned in the room that’s not really hers is the _last_ place she wants to be. She’s lonely and the only person that can make her feel differently told her straight up to get the fuck out. Honestly, now she kind of understands how people can write so many songs about this shit. 

Pining is tolerable. Rejection is a whole new level of pain. 

“Mischa, are you okay?”

_Christ, how many people are going to see me dressed like this today?_

Michelle stops abruptly and manages a nod of acknowledgment as she turns in the direction of his voice. She blinks back her sorrow and throws on a very unconvincing smile because she still has to wipe her eyes. “You’re not on your floor.”

Pietro’s expression doesn’t change. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m alright,” Michelle shrugs, voice a little muffled.

“You do not look alright.”

“That’s because I’m totally lying right now.”

“What’s wrong?”

Michelle pauses. She confided a little in Darcy, which didn’t go too well, although none of that is Darcy’s actual fault. It’s _hers_ , for believing she’s anywhere close to being equipped to deal with emotions she’s been suppressing since sophomore year. She’s not sure if Darcy wants her to feel the amount of guilt she does for her emotional shortcomings.

She’s been trying to put her finger on it, and it finally occurs to Michelle that she feels like less of an autonomous person because she keeps getting identified and spoken to and even looked at as “Peter’s girlfriend.” It hurts so badly because in no way is that sentiment remotely true. Does everyone’s esteem in this place hinge on that misconception?

The best thing about Pietro is that he doesn’t seem to have an agenda in the whole Peter-and-Michelle thing that most of the others do—like they have a personal stake in her relationship with Peter because he’s their friend. It’s refreshing to run into someone that doesn’t seem to blindly adore Peter. It makes his comfort seem more sincere. They're both just lonely people that are outsiders and she doesn't feel like he's judging her worthiness.

“Do you want an overall summation or a laundry list of my individual grievances?” Michelle offers dryly, voice cracking.

“Lady’s choice.”

Michelle actually barks out a laugh. “It’s actually so dumb and selfish I don’t want to tell you.”

“Anything that makes you cry is not foolish. Try me.”

Regarding him with suspicion, Michelle narrows her eyes. “You’re actually not terrible at talking to women.”

“My sister does not have a temper I enjoy provoking. Learning to say the right thing is a survival skill. Proceed with your story. This is the most excitement I’ve had in months.”

Michelle actually barks out a laugh. “Well, I’m in love with my best friend and he’s being an asshole right now. Or maybe I am, I can’t tell, because I’m not really talking to _him_. Which doesn’t really say good things about me either, but at least I wasn’t a jerk until he was! This love bullshit is terrible.”

Pietro looks a little amused and more than a little sympathetic. “I have not yet fallen in love, so I do not know how you feel. I have been infatuated, but the depth of feeling you’re talking about is not something I’m familiar with.”

“Zero stars, do not recommend,” Michelle grumbles, wiping her eyes again and sniffling a bit. She’s not full-blown crying, but she’s in awful shape. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” Pietro places his hands on his hips, and Michelle is struck by how _still_ he is in this moment.

“Do you ever feel like the person you love the most is moving so much faster than you that you get left behind?” Michelle blinks before laughing again. “What am I talking about? You’re the fastest Avenger. I’m sorry, that was a dumb ques—”

“ _Yes_.”

“Huh?”

“I do feel like that. I went to sleep on day, riddled with bullets, and woke up years later to a little sister that had a home, a team, and a partner. I couldn’t provide these things for her when I was alive; I thought I was enough.”

 _Peter’s always been needy…he needs accomplishments, hits on YouTube, popularity at school, attention from beautiful women…I never really thought of it like that before. Is there_ anything _I can offer him?_

“What do you do when you realize you’re not enough?” Michelle ventures to ask.

“I have not figured out my new place in her life,” Pietro admits, running his hand awkwardly through the back of his shaggy fringe. “Wanda says differently, but she stopped needing me. I missed all the growing she did to find her place in the world without me. I’m so proud of her, and she’s still my sister. But I feel less to her now than what I was. I am…diminished for it.”

Pietro is frowning like he’s never said those words aloud, and it occurs to Michelle that maybe he hasn’t. Wanda is the only person he spends time with, according to Peter, and with her powers, she certainly doesn’t have to rely on dragging out verbal confessions. Wanda can just read his mind and _know_. How convenient and also awful, Michelle thinks, to have no privacy but never having to risk being misunderstood. She feels _sorry_ for him, in a way she’d never permit anyone to feel about her, so she offers a painful admission of her own.

“Peter needed me once, but it was to get over the death of his girlfriend,” Michelle says quietly. It’s not really a fair thing to say, but Michelle’s not feeling very charitable towards him. Even if he doesn’t love her back—even _though_ he doesn’t love her back—he’s supposed to still be her best friend. He doesn’t owe her romance but he owes her respect, right? He would never talk to Ned like that.

“Wasn’t that almost two years ago?” Pietro asked. “Not that I was around for it. I was still uh, _sleeping_.”

Michelle nods sagely. “It was a little under two years ago. We got close and then never really stopped being close. We both needed friends, I guess. But I started wanting more than I should.”

“And this ‘should’ part is according to who?”

“Don’t Avengers end up with other superheroes? Or they end up with brilliant scientists or CEOs or socialites, I dunno. They deserve the best, though, right?”

“I’d say it’s more about what _they_ want rather than what you think they deserve. Also there is the question of who deserves them. Such assessments are subjective.”

“I just feel like I’m reaching for something way out of my league. I’m some orphaned kid from Queens who goes to an elitist high school full of kids that would get grades just as good as mine if only they got their heads out of their asses. I mean, they’re all smart enough to succeed, but most of them don’t seem to care at all about their futures.”

A ghost of a smirk haunts Pietro’s face. “I hated school when I was younger.”

“Were you too hyper to sit through class?” 

“I did not appreciate school when I had the chance,” Pietro rephrases. “I often think of how different things would have been if Wanda and I had not sought out Hydra. I would have finished school and hated every minute of it, but it would be more of an education than I have now. I might be married with a family of my own and I’d be working in a factory, probably. Our country would still be impoverished but it would be in one piece. Tens of thousands of people would still be alive that aren’t anymore. It wouldn’t be a great existence, but I wouldn’t have known that I’d been settling for an ordinary life. At least I’d have my sister in my life the way I’m used to.” 

“I have a brother, but we’re not close. My brother’s over ten years older than me. I barely know him and he hardly talks to me. I don’t think he knows how. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to grow up with a twin…it’s almost like a built-in best friend for most people, from the sound of it. Or at least a rival, but someone who just _knows_ you that you can talk with because they’ve been through all the same stuff as you.”

“Eloquence was never one of Wanda’s strengths, she was too forceful and impatient,” Pietro says quietly. He motions with his hands, mimicking the way Michelle recalls from footage how Wanda’s fingers seize and pull on the air before red sparks appear. “She’s always known what I was thinking, but now she doesn’t have to rely on words.”

“Do you regret undergoing experiments?”

“No,” Pietro admits quietly. He stares at the rain through the massive living room window and the droplets create tiny shadows on his pensive face. “I enjoy being enhanced, to be honest. So does she. Our hatred of Stark made us strong enough to survive a lot of things.”

“Do you still hate him?”

Pietro frowns. “Wanda found out later—after Ultron and after Thanos, when she had the time and inclination to dig deeper, that the weapons used to bomb our village were stolen behind Stark’s back in the mid-nineties. His business partner sold them to Sokovian nationalists— _our own people_ —that wanted to punish our village for harboring their enemies. After his parents died, Stark paid so little attention to the weapons of mass destruction he made and where they ended up. He just assumed they stayed in the hands of Americans, because that’s who he made them for. His grief made him negligent, but he chose to numb himself while we made ourselves into weapons more terrifying than the missile that landed on our house. Ironically that one never did the job. The extent of his actual involvement was his name, but it was enough.”

Eyes following the errant trail of a raindrop sliding across the glass, Pietro turns to her. “I still hate what his carelessness caused, but I don’t hate Tony Stark anymore. Neither does Wanda. In our grief, we inadvertently caused the same kind of damage to innocent people that he did. Tony still tries to protect us here and fix what we’ve done with his charities and fundraisers. it’s more than either of us can do to make up for it. Sokovia will suffer for generations, if it ever recovers.”

“I haven’t even been away from my apartment for a week and I already miss it,” Michelle tells him, hoping to sympathize as best as she can. She’s not really used to that, but Pietro’s story is much more compelling than the typical drama she encounters at school. “I can’t imagine not being able to ever go back.”

“Hydra kept us on their base for years. Even before they had the scepter they had access to amazing technology; the promise of enhancement was made well before they had the Infinity Stone. Sokovia hasn’t been a proper home for a long time and it’s hard for me to think of it that way, especially since Wanda is here with me.”

“Will you ever go back?”

Pietro shakes his head. “I do not think I’d be welcome there. I could never leave Wanda, and I do not think she wants to return either.”

“Are you going to stay in the compound forever?” Michelle actually winces, because it sounds really brutal and she didn’t mean it to be. 

“Not forever,” Pietro muses. “But I do not know what to do with my life anymore. My path used to be clear. Now…”

“Options are scary,” Michelle offers. “I go to a school with a bunch of science nerds. For the longest time I thought that’s what I should be into too. My classmates think journalism is antiquated, like I’m going to agonize over copy at a tiny cubicle like a Times reporter in the sixties. But there are still lots of stories in the world that need to be told, and even if it’s unsafe, I’m not going to shy away from telling them. I guess this is my first taste of danger.”

“You’re holding up better than you think,” Pietro informs her, before smiling impishly, “even if you are dressed like a clown.”

Michelle’s first instinct is to fight him, but he’s one hundred percent correct. “I didn’t eat much for breakfast, and I’m sure your metabolism puts an Olympian to shame. Wanna check out the commissary I’ve been hearing so much about? The only Snaps I’ve been brave enough to open mentioned that they have muffins today…”

“The muffins are good.”

“You actually go there?”

“I go all over this entire compound, not just the residential building. I’m just fast enough to make sure no one sees me.”

“…Are you _stealing_ muffins from the commissary?”

“Wanda insists that I pay for them. Since I am not officially a S.H.I.E.L.D. member I have to use traditional money. Are you serious about going?”

“Yeah. My room is down the hall. Can you wait a few?”

“Yes, but if you’re going to be more than twenty minutes, I’m leaving without you.”

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Pietro grins, an easy smile Michelle would not have suspected him capable of based on everything she’s heard. He’s easy to get along with, but maybe because it doesn’t occur to her to walk on eggshells around him like everyone else presumably does. He’s been stranded at the compound much longer than she has. Even though his sister is with him, his loneliness must far surpass Michelle’s. He’s not put off by her selective aloofness when most people would just write her off as a bitch and stop talking to her.

Michelle throws on the jeans she arrived at the compound in and one of Annie’s plain tank tops. She slips back into her old white Converse shoes but leaves the argyle dress socks on under her pants, because they’re hilarious. Michelle’s hair is pretty hopeless, so she just nervously picks at it until it’s about twice the size that it was before realizing she’s spent almost fifteen minutes in her room already. To her relief, Pietro is still waiting for her when she exits.

“Aren’t you going to be cold? The commissary is actually in that building over there,” Pietro points out the window to one that’s several hundred yards away.

Michelle shrugs. The humidity has already made her hair look like Diana Ross; a five minute walk won’t make it any worse. She also doesn’t have anything with long sleeves that wasn’t either purchased for her by Peter or borrowed from him, but doesn’t feel right wearing any of those things when she’s so mad at him. “Nah, I’ll be fine.”

Pietro frowns. “My sister will not think me a gentleman if I do not offer,” he says, motioning to the thin, gray hoodie he has on. 

“Nah, I’m good,” Michelle declines, because sharing clothes with men is definitely different than using the clothes Annie left her. Pietro’s cool, but they’re not really there yet.

“If you insist, then I will just make your trip to the commissary as quick as possible!”

Michelle shrieks when Pietro scoops her up in his arms and his feet _fly_ over the ground. The trees blur around her and the rain droplets barely touch her. It's the best she's felt since the night before, and for half a moment, with her feet not touching the ground, she forgets that the love of her life wants nothing to do with her.


	12. The Color of My Blood Is All I See

Once they’re indoors, Pietro gently deposits Michelle back on the ground and grabs her arm before she falls on her face. “You might be lightheaded at first but it will just last a moment.”

Michelle chuckles breathlessly before straightening back up. “That’s a neat trick.”

Pietro shrugs. “It has its uses.”

“You mean like stealing muffins?”

“I used to steal all the time in Sokovia. Sometimes it was food, usually for Wanda, but other times I’d steal trinkets and clothes for pretty girls.”

“How did that work for you?” Michelle asks, spotting the near-empty queue and lining up. Sundays are not a busy day here, apparently.

Pietro shrugs again. “It was fun. I’ve mostly outgrown it.”

“Mostly,” Michelle repeats skeptically. She scans the large menu and is surprised to find a few unexpected options. “That’s a lot of tea.”

Pietro pulls a face but experience must have taught him to hold his tongue. At her questioning glance, he mumbles something derogatory.

“Humor me and at least try some of mine?” 

Michelle bats her eyelashes at him obnoxiously and while Pietro rolls his eyes but doesn’t say no. She scans the menu for a minute before she settles on a red velvet muffin and a large cup of Japanese sencha. The flavor profiles don’t really go together, but she likes both things and at this exact moment, that will do. Pietro gets a banana muffin, a cinnamon crunch muffin, a blueberry muffin, a chocolate chip muffin, a large black coffee, a large hot chocolate, a glass of apple juice, a bottle of water.

“That’s ridiculous.” Michelle screws up her face in distaste, but her words lack bite.

“You’re being judgmental,” Pietro pouts.

“No wonder you steal food; I just watched you spend thirty dollars on breakfast.”

“You were right about my metabolism.”

“Shouldn’t you eat, like, scrambled eggs or something? Is carb loading like that healthy?”

“I could eat anything I wanted and burn it off in hours. Doctor Yinsen has expressed jealousy.”

“I’m wearing her clothes right now. She’s, like, a size six.”

“She still has a terrible diet and does not like to exercise.”

“No one _likes_ exercising unless they’re insane or enhanced. That’s common knowledge, dude.”

Pietro shrugs. “Steve insists Wanda do cardio and weight training like the rest of them even though her enhanced abilities aren’t physical ones. She complains but it’s good for her. The demands of her powers have also increased her metabolism.”

“Superheroes put away a lot of food,” Michelle mutters distantly. “Peter’s always got energy to burn.”

With a thoughtful look, Pietro winces around a mouthful the sencha tea Michelle poured in a little paper cup for him. “Did his powers really come from a spider bite?”

“It was from a radioactive spider, yes,” Michelle confirms. “He was on a field trip to Oscorp.”

“Radioactive?” Pietro repeats with distaste. Michelle detects some arachnophobia, and that’s fair. “What the hell was going on over there?”

Michelle claps her hands together. “That’s what I said! Motherfucking radioactive spiders, dude. I've been thirsty for a scoop on them for ages; they really don’t have their shit together.”

“It’s a wonder he didn’t die,” Pietro says cryptically but elaborates hurriedly when he spies Michelle's expression. “Hydra took in a lot of test subjects. Wanda and I were the only survivors. It’s easy for things to, ah…go wrong. It’s impressive he survived an accident like that.”

“Kind of like now,” Michelle mutters.

“It sounds like everything is under control. I heard Peter discussing it with my sister last night.”

Frustration must show all over her face, because Pietro looks like he’s wondering how to backtrack.

“He hasn’t told me much of anything interesting lately,” Michelle grumbles mulishly. “We had an intense discussion last night at dinner and then he suddenly bailed on me to hang out with your sister.”

Pietro is polishing off his second muffin and doesn't even glance up. “I can tell from your tone you think something is going on between them. She only has eyes for Vision. Ugh, that is a terrible sentence.”

Michelle laughs at his sour face. “Why did Peter talk to Wanda instead of me?” Her voice is quiet, even though she thought it would come out angrily, it’s hurt and desperate more than anything.

“Why are you talking to me instead of Peter?” Pietro counters.

“I mean, I _tried_. I went with Pepper to visit him before I ran into you. He saw me and immediately got pissy. I’m supposed to be his best friend; he’s supposed to _talk_ to me. He turned me away and he wasn’t very nice about it. In fact, he’s been really hot and cold the whole time I’ve been up here.”

“People do not like to appear weak in front of others,” Pietro suggests solicitously around a swig of coffee.

“Peter was a _trainwreck_ when Gwen died. I’ve pretty much seen him at his worse.”

“But this latest incident at the school involved you. Maybe he doesn’t want you to feel bad when you see him like that?”

“I know he doesn’t want me to feel responsible, but he could have just said that!” Michelle throws up her hands in disgust. “He shouldn’t have to be dealing with this stuff because of me.”

"There you go, feeling guilty. He probably feels guilty too when he sees you so upset. But he should not treat you poorly.”

Michelle shrugs helplessly. “Thanks.”

With a sigh, Pietro runs a hand through his errant, messy waves. She finds the platinum ends and darker growth near his scalp deeply mystifying; surely he could make sure the strands were all the same color? The sight of visible roots is an admittedly weird pet peeve of hers  
.  
“You commented earlier that I was not on my floor,” Pietro says after a moment, oblivious to her studying his hair. “I was actually looking for you. I wanted to talk about the playlist you sent me.”

“There’s no way you’ve already listened to it all. That was only about an hour and a half ago and I'm sure that playlist is a solid three hours.”

 _It's only been ninety minutes since I saw Peter but it feels so much longer_.

“Yes, but I looked the playlist over and recognized almost everything. It is a nice mix of older songs.”

Gazing at Pietro's smile, Michelle debates speaking up about something she's been noticing here of late. “This might sound stupid, but there’s something nostalgic about this place even though I’ve never been here before.”

“It’s a safe space to think about the past,” Pietro states neutrally. “It’s so far removed from everything that’s ever hurt me.”

“Maybe that’s what it is.” Michelle is impressed; what an oddly insightful thing to say. 

“It’s peaceful and secure, and that’s more than I can say about anywhere else I lived. My whole life in Sokovia was full of violence and fear.”

Michelle glances out the window at the forest that surrounds the compound. It’s really beautiful and the natural serenity is almost completely foreign to her as a resident of the city. “I miss my parents. They died when I was eleven in a car accident. It’s like the people and commotion of the city take up so much space I don’t have room to let my thoughts wander in that direction. There aren’t distractions like that here so when I’m not sulking about Peter I keep thinking about them. I haven’t thought this much about my parents since middle school.”

Pietro follows her gaze out the window and she feels the tension melt out of her shoulders as she continues. “They listened to all the classics from the sixties and seventies. My brother hated those songs, but I loved them. It was all I listened to at home when I was a kid, so it was kind of hard getting into modern music, especially the kinds of stuff people expect a mixed teenage girl to like. People are always commenting that my taste in music is too old and too white. I mean, my mom was white, so I kind of can’t help it? Music should bring people together but in my experience it’s just the easiest way for people to make an example out of how different I am from what they think I should be.”

Pietro looks thoughtful. “Do you care what other people think?”

“Sometimes? I used to kind of talk about it with an upperclassman from Decathlon. But she was also the prettiest, richest, most popular girl at school. Peter had a huge crush on her but she moved away after he got her father arrested for stealing alien technology.”

Pietro’s mouth quirks as he studies the rim of his sencha cup. “You and Peter are very intertwined.”

“You’re right. I keep most of my interests to myself because they’re weird for someone my age, so I don’t really have many friends besides Peter. His friend Ned is _kind of_ my friend, but really more by association. I haven’t heard from too many people since all this happened. I guess that should tell me something.”

“From how often he talks about you, I’m surprised Peter has any other friends besides you,” Pietro counters.

Michelle takes a deep breath and says nothing. She keeps hearing things to that effect, but the hint of hope has always been too painful for her to nurture. It’s easier to assume that everyone else is wrong about that one thing because what if they’re right? What if Peter still thinks the world of her but doesn’t want her for a variety of reasons? There's no version of this that doesn't just completely suck.

Her muffin is delicious but Michelle is conscious that she’s making a mess after finishing her last bite. She brushes crumbs off her shirt and when she looks up she sees Pietro with his phone aimed at her. She flicks him off and rolls her eyes.

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” Michelle grumbles.

Pietro shrugs. “You make wonderful faces when you’re cranky, Mischa.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.”

“This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. Your scowls will not deter me.”

“Tormenting some random chick you just met less than a day ago and putting it on your Snapchat story?” Michelle accuses, swinging her phone around and pointing to the notification.

Pietro shrugs. “The app is a nice way to keep track of what’s going on without actually participating or asking questions, even if I think it’s kind of dumb and with every update it gets worse. Honestly I’ve never posted anything until now.”

“Are you using me to boost your popularity?” It’s a joke, because Michelle knows otherwise, but in his seat, Pietro shifts a little. It’s not due to excess energy.

“I am pretty enough that I don’t have to resort to such measures,” Pietro counters with a cocky smile. Michelle’s got to hand it to him; he’s right, even if he’s kidding. He tosses his head back as if to emphasize his point, his wiry white-tipped hair flopping dramatically.

“Aren’t you afraid people will ask questions about your sudden appearance on social media?”

“Some of the Avengers have never even spoken to me in person. I don’t think they’ll start now, over this.”

“Really?” Michelle wonders aloud, her tone completely devoid of her typical skepticism.

“I was not around to save the world with the rest of them. We do not share that in common.”

“So? That’s not exactly your fault and you know it.”

Pietro shifts minutely. “They are not obligated to reach out just because my sister is a member.”

“…Have any of them?” Michelle is almost afraid to ask.

“A few,” Pietro concedes. “Steve was first, although I do not see the appeal in him that my sister does. He has taken it upon himself to be a wise older brother in my absence, but I do not always think he makes the best decisions. I don’t think any of them really do. They are all so stubborn.”

Michelle silently agrees and includes Peter in that assessment. “Did anyone else try to talk to you?”

“Tony makes an effort to periodically ask me if I’m doing okay or if I need anything. I honestly don’t know how to answer that question. Darcy Lewis has tried to get me interested in her music, but her tastes are too modern and too weird. Vision cooks me any food I request but I do not share Wanda's high opinion of his culinary skills. Doctor Yinsen made me a very lightweight and durable suit for sparring that is bulletproof, which has endeared her to my sister very much. The rest are polite and distant. No one forces me to stay on the floor you refer to as mine. I hide behind an android, a witch, and a billionaire.”

“Why did you come out, then?”

“Because you practically dared me,” Pietro says quietly. “It was the barest of challenges, but no one pushes me anymore. I am unpredictable, immature, obstinate, but apparently not strong enough for someone to make me come to my senses. Not even Wanda trusts me enough to change and adapt. Everyone assumes I want to be left alone and at first that was true, but not so much anymore.”

“Aren’t you bored?”

“Bored to death,” Pietro admits with a distant smile upon realizing his word usage was not the best. “My powers make it easy to spy on the others. I know things about some of them that no one else does. Wanda does not approve, even though she used to use her powers to do the same thing.”

Michelle looks down at her empty tray. “Can she read minds without even meaning to?”

“If you are thinking loudly, yes,” Pietro says. “It’s hard to explain, but she says it’s kind of based on how organized someone’s mind is. For example, Wanda says Miss Potts’ mind is quiet and pristine, like a cathedral. She would have to actively concentrate to pick up any of her thoughts. Wanda also says that Tony’s mind used to be very loud and active, like a switchboard that never stops receiving signals.”

“Used to be?”

“When Tony and Wanda used the Infinity Gauntlet to wish everything back the way it was, every single one of his thoughts was laid bare. She saw deeper into his mind than she has into anyone else’s, but now Wanda can’t detect _anything_ Tony’s thinking anymore, even if she tries. She’s not sure if it’s from Extremis or something residual from the Gauntlet.”

“Are your powers any different than they were before you died?”

“I’m faster now,” Pietro boasts. “But it is not quite as exciting without anywhere in particular to be.”

“Except for _spying_ ,” Michelle gushes, trying to lighten his mood. She can’t say she approves whole-heartedly, but the idea of knowing juicy secrets is very tempting. Oh, the information she could gather undetected...

Pietro nods in agreement. He has completely decimated his breakfast and is finishing his bottle of water.

Michelle leans forward in her chair. “So tell me some of the most surprising things you’ve learned?”

“They are actually very boring.” Pietro says this so anti-climactically she almost doesn’t catch it.

“ _What_?” Michelle blinks in disbelief.

“About half of the Avengers are hardly ever here. The other half barely leaves except for missions.”

“That’s…not entirely unexpected,” Michelle ruminates. “But surely you have some good stories. I feel like Peter probably misses the best stuff.”

Pietro shrugs. “I can only think of one thing. Doctor Banner grows recreational drugs in Vision’s greenhouse and uses them frequently in his cooking. His crop must be genetically modified in some way, because last month he accidentally passed out pot brownies to the other Avengers for someone’s birthday and everyone except Rogers and Barnes got very giddy and physically affectionate. Sam thinks it must be something Bruce brought back with him from space.”

Michelle feels her jaw drop. “So like…some weird alien aphrodisiac?”

“Something like that,” Pietro surmises. “Thankfully no one had the chance to do anything…irreparable. My sister helped put everyone back to normal. Did you know that S.H.I.E.L.D. has an official _form_ for what happened? Tony Stark and Doctor Banner had a half hour long argument over whether the trope ‘aliens made them do it’ or ‘sex pollen’ was more applicable, even though nothing actually escalated that far.”

“That sounds like something straight out of an episode of _Star Trek_. Are you sure this place is as boring as you say?”

“Yes. The scientists tend to be homebodies. They stream a lot of nerd shows. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the Avengers that deploy with them tend to train, practice, and spar. This is also boring, but with less British accents.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Doctor Yinsen, Bruce Banner, and Tony Stark like watching _musicals. They play showtunes in the lab, Mischa. It's terrible_.”

“I like nerd shows _and_ musicals. I hope we can still be friends.”

“Musicals, though?” Pietro uses a tone that most people reserve for talking about things like the New York Department of Motor Vehicles and really, _nothing is quite that bad_.

“My parents would always save up and take us to see a show on Broadway ever year.” It was a little more manageable than an actual vacation, piling into a taxi instead of trying to book reservations for themselves and two children to a distant and exotic locale. She can boast having seen the original Broadway cast for _In the Heights_ and _Billy Elliot_ and that's pretty fucking awesome in her book.

“I find musicals boring. The songs themselves are okay, but everything else tends to be awful. Why can’t anyone write good dialogue?”

This is an opinion Peter also shares, and Michelle sighs at this seemingly lost cause. “So tell me what’s so bad about ‘nerd shows,’ then? I happen to love them. _Star Trek_ is my favorite, but I really enjoy _Firefly_ and I’m starting to get into _Doctor Who_.”

“Ugh,” Pietro groans. “I had hoped you would somehow be cool despite the nerd school you attend.”

“Screw you,” Michelle grumbles, kicking at his shin. He evades her blow effortlessly. “At least Peter lets me think I’m capable of actually hitting him, even though he’s fast enough to dodge.”

“I am _much_ faster than he is.”

“Do you ever spar with any of the Avengers?”

“Only Doctor Yinsen has asked. I think it’s more ‘for science’ than a personal interest in me. She said she wanted to compare my powers to those of someone she met in New York—I think he’s a mutant. He has a twin sister named Wendy whose powers impact probability.”

“Wait, so these twins just…developed superpowers naturally? Isn’t that how mutants work?”

Pietro shrugs. “I believe so. There is a whole school of enhanced people living in this state. Doctor Yinsen’s former boss used to be a member there but they all refer to themselves by a stupid code name. A few of them are actually visiting later this week. I think the weekly brief mentioned one of them is bringing a patient for her to examine.”

“Weekly brief?”

“Tony created a report that outlines anything important since so many people are coming and going. Sometimes I think I’m the only person that bothers to read it.”

"I think maybe spying on a sparring session between mutants and Avengers would be interesting. I’ve only met people that were artificially enhanced. I mean, when you think about it, Peter, Bruce, Steve, and Bucky are all science experiments. And you, I guess. Have you met any of mutants? Will you go with me?" 

Michelle bounces in her chair but Pietro makes a sour face. “I have no interest in interacting with them. They’re even more destructive than the Avengers. But Steve encourages cross-training with other superhero organizations and I think Doctor Yinsen also likes the company. I guess it gives her a break from Banner and Cho and Stark.”

 _Annie had been heated on the subject of Tony, but that doesn’t always mean what you think it means_.

“So Antonia and Tony…They’re not actually…”

“Fucking?” Michelle actually flinches. The word is harsh and ugly sounding, but Michelle supposes adults don’t really sugarcoat that kind of thing. It’s uttered casually but there’s no particular emphasis on it that indicates Pietro has feelings on the subject either way. “No one actually knows for certain but there is a very large S.H.I.E.L.D. betting pool for when and if they do.”

“That’s not right,” Michelle says with a frown, thinking of how interested everyone at the compound is in her because of her perceived relationship to Peter. “No one should be _betting_ on something like that.”

Pietro shrugs. “It’s not completely baseless. Ever since Doctor Yinsen left her teammates on the West Coast to come here, she is often with Tony. He understands a great deal of what she’s been through. I overheard Doctor Yinsen tell him she feels betrayed by her old team. They sided with her ex-girlfriend when they broke up. If anyone understands abandonment, it’s Stark.”

Michelle thinks about how Peter was recruited—Tony _needed_ allies when half of his team decided to desert him, and he got a surrogate son out of it instead. A surrogate son who nearly died half a hundred times since then, but who would have fought against someone like Thanos regardless of who made the suit he was wearing.

“Do you spy on Doctor Yinsen a lot?”

“She is here the most, so yes by default,” Pietro admits with a shrug. “She is always willing to engage me in conversation but we don't have many shared interests. I think the fact that Wanda and I willingly joined Hydra makes her uncomfortable sometimes. My sister told me that her family was murdered by terrorists, so it’s a wonder she even talks to me at all.”

“I’ve read some of Antonia’s interviews. I don’t see traces of it now, but she resented Stark for a long time. Tony’s weapons may have led to her family getting killed, but instead of being consumed by hatred and revenge, she focused on creating technology that improved people’s lives. It’s an inspiring story.”

“I think about doing something like that, sometimes. You know, _helping_. But I do not know where to start. Watching Tony clean up after the Avengers has shown me that not everyone appreciates efforts at atonement. I look at Helen and Bruce sometimes and wonder if I should apologize…but I wouldn’t want to make it worse.”

Michelle studies his intense expression. She wonders if Bruce or Helen would forgive him. “It might not work, but either way, you’d be able to move on and stop thinking about it. And you can always do something to help, right?”

“I don’t have exorbitant amounts of money or groundbreaking research to offer,” Pietro says, frowning.

“None of the other Avengers do on a large scale besides Tony, but they still go out on missions and do their part.”

“Sometimes they leave a bigger mess than what they started with.”

Michelle doesn’t actually think that he’s wrong. “At least they’re out there trying.” She says it gently and she hopes Pietro doesn’t think it’s a rebuke, because it’s not. He looks withdrawn more so than offended.

“After everything that happened, it’s nice to be here, in a way—to be left alone. As solitary as it is, it’s also safe. I don’t have to confront what I’ve done and what I need to do. I don’t know how to rejoin the world. Wanda and I left for Hydra when we were sixteen. We never even took our final exams and received our certificates of basic education. She is taking classes in order to acquire a GED. It’s just a piece of paper, but I guess to her it symbolizes normalcy. Maybe I should get one too.”

“It would be an achievable goal to work towards, something small,” Michelle ventures. Something clicks in her mind. “Is that what Peter’s been helping her with? He was very vague when I asked him what they were up to.”

 _My paranoid ass just thought ‘help’ was a euphemism for something else_.

“Wanda is very intelligent but does not care for math. I should probably be more grateful to him; I do not have the patience to tutor her. It would be humiliating if Peter weren’t so smart, but he is only smart in some areas. He’s a prize idiot in others.”

Michelle pipes up automatically to defend him but realizes that sometimes Peter is a huge dummy. His current behavior isn’t really selling his emotional maturity or good sense.

“Well, if you ever need a literature tutor, I’m all yours,” Michelle promises. “It’s Peter’s worse subject.”

“I see him reading frequently.”

“He’s still awful at anything assigned in class. I don’t know how he finishes the books I recommend to him, but somehow he has no problems with _those_. But ask him about a nineteenth century classic and he freezes up. He never pays attention in school.”

Michelle stands up to throw away her garbage, only to find it whisked away by a silver-blue blur. She rolls her eyes at him good-naturedly. She normally doesn’t tolerate show offs, but he doesn’t appear to be genuinely arrogant when he smirks at her. He seems to be enjoying himself, wearing it like a long-forgotten look.

“So Mischa, what do you want to do now?”

“It’s still so early. What do you do for fun?”

“There are a few things I do when no one is around or everyone is sleeping,” Pietro admits. “I’m not sure if I’d characterize anything as fun, though.”

“Such as…?”

Michelle’s shout dies in her throat when she’s suddenly hoisted into Pietro’s arms. He’s off like a shot, back towards the residential building, and she finds herself being dumped on a sectional couch ass over teakettle. When she manages to right herself, she gives him the finger.

“You come _here_?” Michelle wonders aloud. It’s the common room again. She follows the direction of his gaze and her brow furrows.

“My father used to play the piano. He would sing songs to my mother. Our piano was always in need of tuning; it’s nothing like _this_ one.”

(Tony’s beautiful grand piano is probably at least worth £30,000.)

Having a grand piano in a room as an accessory is something a rich asshole would do, and sometimes Tony is a rich asshole, but Michelle recalls that Binary Augmented Retro Framing video from MIT and holds her tongue. Ever since then she’s always wondered if he knew how to play. If he does, it’s something private that’s not for media consumption, and Michelle can respect that.

(The entire world thinks things about Tony that aren’t true, and Michelle ever wonders if, like her, he yearns for someone that can see beyond the tough façade he adopts as protection.)

A wistful feeling falls over Michelle. “My mom would play piano for our family sometimes after dinner. I wish I would have been more receptive when she tried to teach me.”

“Do you remember anything?”

Staring down the piano, Michelle’s face scrunches up for a second as she gingerly walks around to the front and lifts the cover. She never got into any complicated songs; her mother spent so much time trying to drill the fundamentals into her, it probably drove her away faster as opposed to building up her confidence. She doesn’t remember how to read sheet music, but—

Michelle’s fingers dance nimbly over the keys. It’s a feeling she hasn’t experienced since elementary school, and an action she last took under her mother’s watchful eye. When she looks up, she sees Pietro grinning at her.

“Chromatic scales?”

“Literally the only thing I still do.” Michelle yanks her hands back when she’s finished and grips the edge of the piano. The press of her fingertips against the wood can’t erase the sensation of the ivory she just touched. “I can’t remember any songs. Not even simple ones.” Michelle sees Pietro approach, adding, “If you start playing _Heart and Soul_ I will get up and leave you here alone.”

“I know how to play many things,” Pietro boasts as he takes a seat beside her. “All of them are simple, though. This is the first song I ever learned.”

Within the first measure, Michelle immediately recognizes the song as Pachelbel’s Canon in D. “Why would you learn this one first?”

“Wanda made me play it for her all the time,” Pietro replies. He doesn’t stop to answer her question—his playing impressively seamless. “She liked to dress up and pretend she was walking down the aisle at her wedding. I guess I just never imagined she’d eventually marry an android. I wasn’t so keen at first, but Vision did save her life after she killed Ultron. We are getting better acquainted.”

“I hate to say this, but I’m a little scared to meet your sister,” Michelle admits. If Wanda is going to cause a problem between them, Michelle would rather know now.

To her surprise, Pietro doesn’t really react. He continues playing as if she said nothing for a moment. “I cannot assure you that Wanda is harmless. That would be a lie. You’re not in any danger from her, but I can see why you’re reticent.”

Michelle doesn’t reply. Her arm is pressed against Pietro’s, which nudges her every so often when his left hand moves further down the keyboard, but she wishes she could lean on him the way she would on Peter. It’s been less than two hours since he tossed her out of the medical bay. She can’t imagine spending an indefinite amount of time banished from his presence. She’ll go crazy.

When Pietro finishes the song, he stands up and gives her a mocking bow. She laughs and claps. “Did she ever let you play her anything else?”

“Yes, she loves the Beatles song ‘In My Life’ because _Tata_ taught her the guitar part and he taught me the piano part. We would sing and play it together for our parents.”

Michelle smiles at the thought. Kevin would _never_ be caught dead doing something that adorable.

“I think we played every song together on that whole album. My father also taught the guitar parts to me. I prefer playing the guitar, but it was Wanda’s favorite too so I let her do it instead.”

Michelle leans back as he starts playing a Beatles song on piano. It’s much different without the rest of the instruments. Pietro’s Eastern European accent is a bit jarring but it’s pleasant, if you’re looking to be pleased.

“The A.I. in this place can play any song you want, but everything sounds better on vinyl.” Pietro points to a sleek turntable that looks so modern it’s hardly recognizable. “I haven’t listened to _Rubber Soul_ since my parents died. I haven't listened to any records since then. I miss the cracks and the pops and the scratches. None of our vinyls were in great shape after being played so often. We didn't have many, so that one was my favorite.”

Well, that clinches it, because now nothing else will do. _Rubber Soul_ it is. Michelle stands up abruptly in excitement. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., are there any records in here?”

“The cabinet to your left has some commonly played titles. The rest are in private collections.”

A quick search produces several Beatles albums but not the one they both want. _Figures_.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., do you have a list of vinyl records on premises?”

A hologram is projected about eighteen inches away from Michelle’s face and she yelps. “Boss owns the following titles.”

Michelle can actually feel her jaw drop because there are _at least_ a thousand albums. Thankfully they’re listed alphabetically by artist so she finds what she’s looking for rather quickly. “Um, wow. Are any of them available for other people to borrow?”

“The current titles are housed in his personal quarters and are not available,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. intones, highlighting about fifty albums. In addition to the AC/DC and Led Zeppelin she expects, she finds Tom Waits, Radiohead, and David Bowie. There’s nothing highlighted by the Beatles, though, so Michelle is hopeful.

“What about the other albums listed?”

“The other titles are in Boss's lab. Access is restricted to designated personnel only.”

“Oh. Whom might they be?” Michelle asks meekly.

“Doctor Banner and Peter Parker are the only Avengers on site with access to the specified.”

Process of elimination makes Michelle groan.

“Awesome, I can’t wait to see Bruce again after he heard Peter chew me out,” Michelle grumbles, realizing that Doctor Banner is sadly her best shot. “Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“No problem.”

Michelle’s eyes go wide upon hearing a response. Shaking her head, she turns to Pietro. “Let’s ask Doctor Banner.”

Pietro blinks at her twice and crosses his arms.

“Or _I_ can ask Doctor Banner, ugh.”

At Pietro’s cheesy smile and wave, Michelle sharply turns on her heel and storms towards out of the room, muttering loudly about lazy Sokovian men, despite realizing there is a valid reason she’s being sent in his stead. Hopefully Bruce is close enough to the medical bay door that she won’t have to worry about Peter catching a glimpse of her. Tracing the very familiar path, Michelle finds herself two steps away from the kitchen entrance when she hears Bruce speaking to someone and abruptly comes to a stop. From the sound of his voice, she determines it to be Steve Rogers.

Steve, James, and Sam must be back a little earlier than expected, but that’s not what makes Michelle pause. Michelle has zeroed in on the insistent tone, rather than the words; things only get more interesting when she’s close enough to hear what they’re actually saying.

“Bruce, you can’t be planning to invite _everyone_ but two people.”

Michelle stays frozen in place because if she makes noise now, they will know someone is there.

“Actually, since it’s Betty’s birthday, _she_ can invite whomever she wants, and if I don’t particularly want Pietro and Wanda there, neither does she.”

Michelle claps a hand over her mouth.

“Excluding them from team gatherings doesn’t help them—”

“Steve, a birthday party for my girlfriend is not an _official_ gathering and it’s not the appropriate place to mend broken team bonds. I don't _hate_ them, but we never talk. Why would I invite them to something so personal?”

There’s a pause where Steve likely has no solid rebuttal, and then Bruce continues. “In South Africa, Wanda incapacitated you with a flashback about your old girlfriend. She got in my head and made me destroy half of Johannesburg. Just because we all fought Thanos together doesn’t mean everything’s all water under the bridge. I still think about what she made me do every time I catch sight of her or her brother.”

There’s a sigh from Steve. “She’s really trying to be better, Bruce.”

“I know she is. But you can’t force me to forgive her for what she made me do. People don’t work that way, Steve. When I was a young boy, I watched my father kill my mom with his bare hands. It’s why I’m so angry all the time, to be honest. No one gets to criticize someone for hating the man that murdered his mother and no one can force him to get over it.”

“But it wasn’t _really_ Bucky. Why doesn’t Tony understand?”

“Steve, he _does_ understand that. Tony actually _talks_ to Bucky. He just doesn’t talk to you.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence and Michelle can practically hear her heart rate increase.

“Tony knows I’m sorry for not telling him sooner.”

“Steve, some psycho with a vendetta against the Avengers found out the truth before _he_ did. You let that happen by not telling him, and Natasha let it happen by dumping S.H.I.E.L.D. files all over the internet. I mean, I bailed on you guys after I helped get Ultron up and running so I kind of gave up my right to an opinion about accountability. But how that particular thing went down is all on you two.”

Michelle marvels at how conversational he sounds, as if they’re discussing something casual like weather. There’s a sound of clinking glassware before Bruce continues.

“Steve, I don’t know what else you expect. Tony gets on better with James than he does with any of the other Avengers that fought against him in Germany. That’s the most you could have reasonably hoped for and you got your wish. That doesn’t mean you deserve his trust or friendship back. You can’t always have your cake and eat it too. You burned a bridge that you didn’t have to. Just accept it.”

“Bruce…”

There’s a clanging sound of some kind of utensil hitting the countertop.

“Let me tell you a harsh truth I learned as The Hulk; I will never find peace for all the innocent lives I’ve taken. The victims I hurt are not obligated to forgive me. It doesn’t matter how sorry I am or how many other people I help; I’m not entitled to anyone’s forgiveness. You aren’t entitled to Tony’s, either.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve murmurs, his voice more defeated than Michelle can imagine coming from Captain America. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“You have to stop resenting Tony for feeling betrayed; he’s not withholding forgiveness to be childish or spiteful, he just…can’t do it yet. Maybe he never will. Steve, I know you just want to make things right, but every time you push this it makes everybody tense. When we’re not all united against a common enemy, human nature rears its ugly head. People will pick sides again. The lines are already drawn in the sand for next time, and what if there’s a next time? Are you going to punch your way out of it again?”

Steve’s “no” is emphatic, but Bruce sighs audibly.

“Come to Betty’s party if you want to eat some of Darcy’s amazing food or dance to Annie’s nineties playlist or watch Betty perform with Ian. Come if you want to spend a fun night with everyone and wish Betty a happy birthday. But please don’t come if you’re going to spend the night resenting Tony for not wanting to have anything to do with you. He deserves to be happy, and if that doesn’t include you two mending fences, you need to accept that.”

Realizing that Bruce has ended the conversation (and is likely to round the corner and discover her at any moment), Michelle forces her legs to move and manages to quietly slip away back the way she came so she looks far enough away not to have heard anything she just did. When she passes by the kitchen, she’s surprised to hear Rogers speak up. Michelle thought he would have left the kitchen after what just happened and yet he’s standing by the refrigerator making a sandwich.

“Good afternoon, Michelle.”

Overwhelmed by awkwardness, Michelle manages to nod in his direction until she thinks to ask him about the op he was just on. “I hope everything went okay on your mystery mission to God-knows-where. I don’t need details if you’d have to kill me after telling me.”

Steve huffs. “I assure you it wasn’t that exciting.”

Michelle decides to rummage through the fridge to make her presence seem totally intentional. She pulls out a water pitcher and vaguely recalls where Darcy got a glass for herself earlier that day. She politely offers Steve one too, which he accepts. She hopes Pietro doesn’t get bored and hunt her down.

“I’m not sure how interesting this place is for a civilian, but I hope you’re enjoying your stay,” Steve informs her.

He’s sincere. Michelle can see earnest regard and genuine kindness etched on his features. She wonders if this is the same expression that Tony Stark sees when he looks at him. She wonders if she’d be able to forgive someone if they were complicit in killing her parents—or if they knew details about it and never told her.

 _Luckily I don’t have to worry about that_.

“I’m enjoying myself more than I thought," Michelle tells him truthfully. "It’s kind of hard to find stuff to do sometimes. I was actually just about to ask Bruce if he could help me get my hands on some vinyl records. Have you seen him by any chance?”

Michelle’s laying it on a little thick, and Steve levels his blue gaze at her in that discerning, serious way he did the first morning he met her.

“I take it you overheard my conversation with Bruce?”

“Huh?”

“ _Michelle_.” And ugh, it’s the Captain America voice. 

“Yeah, okay, fine. I did, but in my defense, it took place in a public area and I didn’t really mean to,” Michelle stammers, rolling her eyes.

“I wasn’t mad at you.”

“Oh,” Michelle says, polishing off her water.

“I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

Michelle shrugs. “I don’t really know you or Tony well enough to have a credible opinion on anything that happened.” It’s very carefully worded—more so than the things she usually says. 

Steve looks like he doesn’t believe her if his wince is anything to go by. “You want to be an investigative journalist, right?”

“Yes.” Michelle nods.

“So, as future Pulitzer Prize winner for publishing harsh truths, what would you have done? Would you have told Tony that your vulnerable, broken best friend killed his parents against his will and risk it going south?”

Michelle shifts on her feet. “Well, I only met Tony less than a week ago, but he’s already fed me and clothed me and sheltered me, based solely on the strength of Peter’s word that I’m his best friend and somehow deserving. Tony's not an angel, but he's generous to a fault. If you would have been upfront about everything you knew about Barnes and vouched for your best friend in that capacity, maybe things could have gone differently or maybe things would have gone about the same. But I guess you’ll never know, since you never gave him a chance to react to you telling him personally. You're still a great guy; Peter really likes you. You've demonstrated time and again that you'd do anything for you team...just, um, not Tony, I guess."

Michelle shrugs helplessly. She’s had so few close friends that she can’t really fathom a betrayal of that magnitude. But saving the world from a near-death experience doesn’t make things go back to _normal_. It doesn't erase the times you've been hurt by someone else. It hasn’t dimmed any of the pain that Peter still feels about losing Gwen or tempered her unwanted feelings of love and admiration for Peter. 

She wonders why Steve feels compelled to seek forgiveness; Iron Man has deployed with the Avengers at least half a dozen times since Thanos left Earth. Michelle hasn't seen anything to indicate they can't work together, at least.

“Nobody’s perfect,” Michelle says after a moment of studying Steve’s pensive expression. “Learn from it. Be better. That’s what Captain America said in one of his detention videos. And even though those PSAs are ridiculous, that’s not bad advice.”

Michelle sits her empty water glass in the sink and slinks down the hallway back towards medical. Hopefully enough time has passed for Bruce to think she hasn’t overheard him. The sound of Steve running the tap to wash her glass is the last thing she catches before she’s out of earshot.

It’s fleeting, but Michelle recalls Peter telling her once how Steve doesn’t like dishwashers because he doesn’t think they get plates and glasses as clean as good, old-fashioned hand washing. She thinks about how awful it must be for Steve to have constant daily reminders that he’s somewhere he doesn’t belong—in a _time_ where he doesn’t belong. She wonders if she spent a few years building a new life from scratch, if she’d risk it all because her best friend suddenly showed up and needed help. Would she give up everything for Peter if he needed her the way Steve did with Bucky? 

_Yeah, Peter’s worth fighting for, but if he doesn’t want to see me, that’s his choice. I have to respect his boundaries. I don’t know why he has to be such an asshole right now, but I’m sure he’ll tell me later. I have to trust that he’ll tell me._

To her immense relief, Michelle finds the door to the medical bay ajar. She doesn’t have to open it and risk announcing her presence to Peter, and yeah, that sounds dumb, but she’ll take any small mercy she can. She spies Bruce on the other side of the room sipping a mug of tea and picking at a sandwich. She waves at him, but when Bruce opens his mouth to return her greeting, she shushes him with a finger over her lips and his eyes dart to where Peter must be before he wordlessly shuffles over.

There’s no indication from Bruce’s body language or overall demeanor that he and Steve had such a serious conversation only ten minutes prior. She’s still a little shaken herself, but she’s a woman on a mission and can’t allow herself to get waylaid any more than she already has.

Bruce’s expression does some funny things when she reveals the reason for her visit.

“Wait, _Rubber Soul_?” Bruce squints at her when she details her and Pietro's request.

“Yes. Can you get it for me out of Tony’s lab? I don’t have access. But only if it’s not too much trouble.”

Bruce stares at her like she’s sprouting another head but obediently goes to retrieve the record. He’s gone for four minutes before he reappears genuinely befuddled, handing the album over with a weird glance. “Isn’t this group a little before your time?”

“I love classical music.”

Michelle beats a hasty retreat before Bruce can voice his opinion on that particular sentiment. She holds the record reverently, noting that it’s in excellent condition. She wonders if it’s a first edition—if one of Tony’s parents bought it, or if he did. Like with Annie’s book, suddenly she’s not sure if this is such a good idea. What if they break it?

“Mischa, that took _forever_ ,” Pietro whines when she enters the common area. “I am an old man now.”

“Your hair’s already white,” Michelle comments blithely.

“It is _platinum_.”

Michelle waves a dismissive hand in front of his face. “It doesn’t match your roots or your eyebrows, so does the color really matter?”

“You don’t like my hair, Mischa?”

Michelle pauses. “I was actually thinking earlier how your hair was kind of weird.”

“Bad weird?”

“Ehhh,” Michelle offers half-heartedly with a shrug.

It occurs to Michelle that Pietro is actually very much her type. Obviously she’s in love with Peter, but with Pietro posturing in front of her, she can objectively appreciate his stern expression, curly hair and amazing cheekbones. Michelle can’t think of one girl at school that would think Peter was better looking than Pietro, but well, here she is, being that girl. She longs for Peter’s brown hair and brown eyes gazing back at her and wants to kick herself for being such a lovesick idiot.

“I’ll be taking this,” Pietro snatches the record out of Michelle’s hands before she can even blink. At least he’s respectful of Tony’s property— _and knows how to use a fucking turntable, goddamn it, Flash Thompson_ —and before she knows it, Michelle is transported back to her living room in 2011 by the familiar tracks of her childhood. It was before her brother closed himself off to her completely, before she even dreamed of going to a school for gifted students, before she ever thought she’d meet Iron Man, let alone a whole team of superheroes. 

_My parents died before the Chitauri invaded. They had no idea how much danger was out there. They grew up thinking that the worst danger mankind faced was from within, and while that hasn’t changed a whole lot, we also proved that all kinds of people could come together and save the world_.

Michelle glances over at Pietro who looks relaxed and blissed out on the couch beside her. He lies utterly _still_ , like his excess energy has been tapped by music. He smiles at her a lot, but this is the first time it seems effortless and almost subconscious.

“Thanks for getting this for me,” Pietro mutters halfway through the last song.

“I got it for _us_ ,” Michelle corrects.

“It sounds foolish, but just touching the sleeve gave me chills.” Pietro sighs. “I miss my parents, Mischa.”

Michelle smiles sadly. “Me too.”

Staring through the skylight at the sun struggling to break through clouds, Michelle feels pain so fresh it’s like she just heard that her parents died all over again. It was a stupid accident—the kind of thing that’s just a statistic—but what if she’d lost them as violently as Pietro had? Would she have let the trauma twist her up and make her evil? Would she fight against people like Peter or Tony because they stood for something good?

“I think about what Wanda and I have done and I do not think _Mama_ and _Tata_ would be proud. I’ve overheard Wanda saying she ‘got off her ass’ after she made a mistake that killed civilians, but she did it more for Steve than in the name of righting her wrongs. Things got worse for her before they got better and I’m afraid that I’ll make the same mistakes.”

When Pietro’s eyes meet hers, they are wide and troubled. Despite what people think, Michelle isn't frigid or unfeeling. She wants to be an investigative journalist to help people, for heaven's sake, but doesn't easily empathize with most people. But the lost, overlooked, and confused emotions he's expressed to her are things she feels acutely. She sees a man so lonely he spies on his housemates, a man who reads about the schedules of people he doesn't interact with and studies the habits of strangers. He observes but doesn't participate, and it's _exactly_ what she does in social situations too.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Michelle says helplessly. “I’m not really the poster child for great communication or wise decisions. I only have one friend and he's not even talking to me right now.”

“No, but you listen,” Pietro informs her. “You listen without an agenda. Not even a therapist or psychiatrist can do that. You’re not trying to fix me, or _help_ me. I can just tell you things and they’re as important or unimportant as I want them to be.”

Michelle’s eyebrows quirk. “I like that same thing about Peter, when he’s not ignoring me or actively running me off…Which only started since he got here, by the way.”

Pietro groans. “He is an idiot. You know you deserve better and he probably does too. He will find out when someone impressive comes along and tries to steal you away.”

“What, like some hotshot trying to make my exclusive friends list?” Michelle teases.

“No, I meant a suitor of some kind,” Pietro smirks, winking.

Michelle laughs at his expression, flicking a strand of hair away from her face with a flourish. “Ha, you’re going to take a shot at me?”

Pietro snorts. “I am in shambles, Mischa, and in no shape for anything you deserve. I’m talking about a man that will try to _romance_ you.”

“Eww, I can’t actually see that working,” Michelle wrinkles her nose. Pietro gave her a flower, but it was an action meant to unbalance and tease her. It definitely wasn’t a tool of seduction, and the thought of a man trying to use traditional methods like that is laughable.

 _Although_ …

“The richest guy in school tried to get me to go to shows with him and offered to buy me stuff, but he was a huge creep about it. I kept it from Peter because I thought I could handle it myself, but it turns out that I really couldn’t.”

“What would Peter have done if you’d have told him about this guy?”

Michelle’s whole face contorts as the sun from the skylight chooses that moment to hit her in the eyes. “Um, Peter would have probably approached Harry and awkwardly stammered out a vaguely threatening monologue about women’s rights,” Michelle speculates. “Or not, I can’t say. I know he’s Spider-Man, but in school Peter’s still a fumbling mess. Literally _no one_ would believe they’re the same person.”

“I’ve watched Peter spar with other Avengers. When he wears the suit he’s confident and always has a smart remark. Out of it, he’s usually trailing after Tony in one of the labs or sitting with his nose in a book. He acts like he doesn’t belong here.”

“I just wish I could talk to him.”

“You will soon enough, I'm sure. He'll be bored without you. Until then, you can come with me to one of the gymnasiums so I can run. I sat still for too long and I might actually go crazy if I don’t run a few miles.”

“…I don’t have to run, do I?”

Pietro shrugs. “You do not look particularly athletic so I wasn’t going to ask you to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Michelle demands. “I’ll have you know I was _just_ in the gym last night. Nakia was showing me some self-defense techniques.”

“Oh? Is she any good? I’ve always wondered how War Dogs fight.”

“War Dogs?”

“Nakia is a former spy. She is actually King T’Challa’s consort.”

“ _What_?” Michelle shrieks. “I thought she was a Dora. I can’t practice with her! What if I hurt her?” Pietro starts cracking up, and she smacks his arm, graciously allowing her to make satisfying contact. “You know what I mean. I don’t think I could actually think of a situation where I’d want to try and fight her. She's a future queen. Does that make sense or does it just sound stupid?”

“It does not. Personal feelings affect combat situations. Some Avengers are flat out afraid to spar with Hulk if Bruce is particularly frustrated about a project, and no one can really bring themselves to take a swing at Princess Shuri and mean it, but she has no problem hitting anyone in return.”

“Princess Shuri _from Wakanda_ comes here?”

“Oh yes, Mischa,” Pietro informs her. "She's on-site because of an ongoing project she has with Doctor Yinsen. Plus I think she wants to stay for something going on later this week with Bruce."

Similar to T'Challa, Michelle just assumed Shuri was a royal that Peter met once and doesn't consider either of them Avengers in the fullest sense. Michelle is accustomed to dismissing Peter's constant praise of Princess Shuri as yet another harmless crush Peter has on an unobtainable woman. Who wouldn't be into a _princess_ , especially one that invents cool shit and wears awesome couture outfits and has more Instagram followers than Tony Stark? 

(But knowing Peter likes a girl he actually sees with any type of frequency is completely different.)

Michelle hates feeling jealous. She _loathes_ it. But the suspicion she felt over Peter meeting up with Wanda is nothing like what she's feeling now, and she can feel her stomach start to roll. Doubt is nothing compared to the inadequacy she feels now.

"I have only met Princess Shuri once, but I can introduce you to her if you want. Would you like to meet her?"

Michelle thinks she might actually die before managing to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a fic about bashing characters; I promise everyone is probably going to get a turn at criticism and a shot at redemption once they spend time with Michelle. She's a very analytical person who can find the faults in everyone, especially herself. She's going to find the good qualities in your heroes too. So please don't be alarmed if your favorite characters aren't portrayed the way you think they should be; your narrator is an eighteen year old girl that's digesting this whole idea of a superhero team and a superhero crush.
> 
> This chapter is almost twice the length I typically post. I couldn't find a good place to break it up, so I'm sorry if it's too long. 
> 
> Historically I notice that people get restless when the love interests don't interact for a few chapters. I still maintain that this distance is necessary. Peter will show up a few chapters down the line. Isn't it nice he can just sit in his bed and use Snapcat to watch Michelle have adventures all over the compound :D


	13. I Am Dissonance Waiting to Be Swiftly Pulled into Tune

“Let’s wait on meeting Shuri, maybe,” Michelle suggests before heading towards the elevator. She tries her hardest not to look nervous or threatened and she’s probably failing miserably. 

There’s _no one_ at Midtown capable of unbalancing Michelle, except Peter (and apparently Harry). The compound is a different story. She’s gone from being a big fish in a small pond to realizing she’s a tiny fish in an endless ocean each and every time she encounters someone new here. Michelle doesn’t think she can handle meeting another member of royalty at the moment.

Speaking of big deals, Michelle spots two Avengers walking down the hall towards her. She’s still following Pietro to the gymnasium and nods politely at them when they walk by. Sam gives them a hell of a once-over and James shoots them a mildly curious look, but neither of them speak a word and that's probably for the best.

“So I guess they’re done with their mission,” Michelle says after they’ve gone. After seeing Steve she already knows that, but Pietro might not. 

“They tend to keep busy.”

“So you don’t have any dirt on them?”

Pietro shrugs. “It’s not like I spy on people in their rooms or anything. I don’t really know much about James because he can always detect my presence and goes back to his suite because he likes his privacy. Whenever Sam is in a common area—working out, cooking, fixing his gear, eating—he’s streaming _something_ and it’s usually good. I don't think he cares who's around him or not.”

Michelle makes a face, trying to parse Pietro’s opinion of _good_. She definitely needs more information. “You mentioned something about Darcy’s taste in music…what do you hate about it so much?”

A muscle twitches under Pietro’s eye. “When I was younger, Wanda and I were very poor and we could barely afford food. Hydra isn’t big on giving call phones to volatile assets since we were supposed to always be deployed alongside handlers. So when I came back to life, I wasn’t that good with technology. Luckily Darcy helped me set up accounts on all kinds of apps she thought I might be interested in. She saw Spotify was my favorite, and helped me find some good playlists with acoustic music I liked.” 

Michelle presses her lips together, because so far this story seems kind of nice. 

“I asked what kind of music _she_ really liked, and she played a band for me once, it was some kind of December-something, and it was just awful noise.”

“Are you thinking of The Decemberists?” Michelle supplies. Peter listens to them sometimes.

Pietro grits his teeth. “That’s it. I can’t stand the lead singer’s voice. It grates on my nerves and sounds like a dying cat. Then she played some clips of her boyfriend’s band, but I didn’t _know_ it was her boyfriend’s band. I said some very harsh and uncomplimentary things about them because they sound virtually identical to the band they cover. I have since apologized and she said I’m forgiven, but ever since then I think she plays loud and cacophonous noise in my presence on purpose.”

_It’s probably good he’s not coming to Betty’s birthday party_ , Michelle thinks. “They’re really not too bad overall but it’s good to know your weakness is Darcy's hipster music.”

Pietro makes a face and Michelle’s laugh echoes off the massive ceiling. She was too nervous to pay attention last night, but the gymnasiums are _huge_ and she can see scuff marks, cracked trim, dents, and burns on the walls. She wonders how many of them came from Peter, or from his teammates fighting him. In her opinion, he takes more than his share of bad hits. It’s too hard for her to watch his YouTube videos.

Michelle has seen some interesting superhero footage from Darcy’s Instagram, but nothing on Pietro for several reasons. She figures now is as good a time as any to look her fill and see him in action. She admires the lean line of Pietro’s back as he stretches and touches his toes, finding his lithe form not too dissimilar from Peter’s. Big and brawny has never done it for her.

(Harry has the build of a pencil and she found him alright to look at. His blue eyes didn’t hurt, but Michelle is easy for Peter Parker’s brown ones and that’s the standard definition of bias right there.) 

Peter’s never caught her checking him out, but Pietro might, so Michelle makes sure she’s diligently scrolling through her phone when he glances up after sensing her eyes on him.

“So why all of that rage over The Decemberists?” Michelle asks conversationally. “Plenty of bands are worse.”

“Darcy likes _lots_ of bands with annoying singers or bands that just sing nonsense—like that’s a credible musical genre. Music should sound pleasant. Why would someone want to listen to Animal Collective on purpose?”

“Some of the later Beatles records are pretty abstract,” Michelle points out. "Lots of bands have experimental phases."

“I know, and I’m not a fan,” Pietro huffs.

“You’re such a dork,” Michelle mutters. She’s scrolling through her Spotify playlists on her phone in case he wants her to pick. “Do you normally listen to music when you’re in here?” 

“I’ve been running outside lately, even though it’s cold. I don’t like headphones outdoors. I guess I could find something though. F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you shuffle my 60’s workout playlist?”

Michelle cracks up and repeats “60’s workout playlist” and Pietro throws a water bottle at her. Peter always misses on purpose when he chucks stuff at her, so Michelle literally screams she realizes it’s actually on an accurate trajectory and fails to turn away and duck in time. It hits the giant bruise on her left shoulder blade and she grunts, proud of herself for not to falling flat on her face because he really whipped that bottle at her hard.

“Dude!”

“I’m sorry! I’m so used to Wanda just using her powers to catch everything. She’s really the only person I hang out with and now I regret saying that out loud because I sound pathetic.”

Her bruise hurts (a lot) but Pietro is clearly contrite and Michelle sighs at his embarrassing admission. “I’ll just ice it later. I can’t wait until I’m completely healed and all my bruises are gone.”

“Depending on the severity of your injuries, you could use Doctor Cho’s Cradle.”

“I’m sure my very minor injuries wouldn’t warrant the financial cost or time to use it. I’m just a little banged up.”

Pietro shrugs. “Did you know that Doctor Cho is dead-set against them becoming more widely available? Any organization housing one would be at extreme risk of an attack, like her facility in Seoul. She insists that it's not safe. Between that and the thirty million dollar price tag, there won't be any more in the immediate future.”

Michelle recalls reading about the carnage and tries not to wince. “Can the Cradle heal all types of injuries?”

“I’ve been told it heals tissue damage from physical trauma, like the kind from knives or bullets. I do not think it would do much for extensive nerve damage, which is why it hasn’t been able to help Colonel Rhodes’ back or Doctor Strange’s hands. It can’t cure terminal illnesses or help someone that was poisoned, drowned, or strangled. It doesn't seem like it would be of any help to Peter in his current predicament, either.”

“I read that lots of companies are trying to build similar devices but they aren’t even close.”

Pietro shrugs. “Doctor Cho is a genius.”

“There are a lot of those around here,” Michelle mutters.

Pietro raises a brow at her before carefully stating, “I don’t know why you’d want to wait any longer to meet Princess Shuri. She is everybody’s favorite.”

Michelle doesn’t really have an argument for that. Jealousy over someone she’s never met is stupid and she’s dead set against being a catty-ass bitch just because she’s threatened. But Princess Shuri oversees _all_ of the scientific discoveries in the world’s most technologically advanced country. She’s defended her brother while her country waged a civil war and also fought against Thanos and The Black Order to protect the world. There’s nothing she can’t do.

Hell, Shuri was fucking _queen_ for awhile, not that Michelle really remembers. That fateful day, Michelle had stayed home sick while her classmates went on a field trip to the MoMA. (If they would have been going to the Met, she would have dragged her ass to school.) She had fallen asleep and doesn’t recall turning to ash, although her brother assures her that she did when he came home to an empty apartment and a pile of dust in her bed.

There’s so much that Michelle missed without ever knowing it; she’s finally realizing there’s so many things before her eyes but is so afraid to watch them get stolen right in front of her. It nearly happened once before. There are countless accomplished women out there that are able to acknowledge that Peter is a catch while she’s still _stuck_. Fear holds her back, because the last thing her heart can take is driving him away into the arms of someone else.

Truthfully, Peter can do so much _better_ than Michelle. It’s a wonder he hasn’t already outgrown her.

_Princess Shuri_ , Peter’s occasional lab partner and full-time crush, is a legitimate hero and continues to be a guiding light for humanity. Princess Shuri, everyone’s _favorite_ because she’s beautiful and funny and brilliant. Princess Shuri, by all accounts a woman that can smile at her friends and family without feeling the crushing vulnerability that Michelle does, because she goes toe-to-toe with superheroes as their equal.

Just thinking about her makes Michelle nauseous. It’s fucking atrocious, what this stupid crush has reduced her to. _She’s so much better than this and she knows it_. And yet. Stomach in knots, Michelle still smiles.

“One new friend at a time, Pietro,” she manages with a small huff.

“That’s not a bad idea, when you put it that way,” Pietro reasons before he takes off in a silver blur. She feels him displace the air around her and rustle her giant cloud of curly hair with every pass, only taking a second or two before he laps her again and again.

_Wow_.

It takes Michelle’s mind off of her worries, watching him move. During one pass, he slows down just enough to salute at her, and she laughs at how carefree Pietro seems given his solemn mood just ten minutes earlier. Michelle wonders if all the serotonin that having a superpower (or two) releases is maybe why they like exercising so damn much. Pietro comes to a halt soon after, claiming that he’s run over eleven kilometers already. Michelle rolls her eyes and rests her hands on her hips.

“How would I even be able to know if you were telling the truth? All I saw was a blur.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., how far did I just run?”

“You just ran 11.2 kilometers.”

“Distance sounds _so_ much more impressive when you use the metric system.”

Pietro fakes outrage. “That’s still seven miles! Can you do any better?”

Michelle snorts. “Obviously not, dude. I hate exercising like you wouldn’t believe.”

“But,” Pietro tilts his head to the side and Michelle is aware that he is very intently running his eyes up and down her body. She fights the urge to cross her arms over her chest protectively. “I know I said you are not built like an athlete, but you’re doing something to take care of yourself.”

Michelle feels blood rushing to her face. “I mean, I’m toned from yoga, also known as the only acceptable form of physical fitness I will perform in gym class. I refuse to have an audience if I’m doing cardio. It’s so undignified.”

“What about your self-defense techniques?”

“Oh, I literally had one session with Nakia. It was all about _breathing_. I’m apparently not even good at that.”

“Didn’t you learn proper breathing techniques for yoga?”

Michelle winces. “I kind of ignored that part.”

Pietro sighs in a way that clearly mirrors her own typical level of disdain.

“Nakia still hasn’t gotten back to me yet about lesson two, so I'm open to suggestions,” Michelle admits after a moment.

“I taught Wanda how to protect herself when we were kids. I have nothing on a Wakandan spy, but I’m an excellent teacher.”

Michelle lights up. “Oh? My breathing is hopeless, so what’s your version of lesson one?”

“Hold out your hand, palm up.”

Michelle does as instructed.

“Show me how you make a fist.”

Michelle closes her hand, and instantly gets a huff from Pietro.

“If you hit someone with your thumb in that position, you’ll break it.” Pietro demonstrates a clenched fist for her and she tries to copy him with her left hand. He gently pries her thumb back down to where it needs to be. “Like this, Mischa.”

After she replicates the gesture ten times, Pietro is finally satisfied with her positioning. “Make sure your wrist stays straight—don’t let it bend. Hit your opponent with these two knuckles,” Pietro states, pointing to the ones at the base of her pointer and middle finger, “because they will inflict the most damage. And put your weight into each strike…all forty kilos of it.”

“I weigh more than that!” Michelle counters, but it’s nothing she hasn’t heard before.

“I’m going to throw a punch and I want you to watch me.” Michelle observes the way his hips pivot so his back and shoulders put weight behind the punch. When Pietro stands back to watch her efforts, she kind of overextends the first time and looks pretty stupid tripping over her own feet. She expects him to laugh at her, but he merely shakes his head and catches her arm before she can fall on her face. He gently pulls her upright.

“Go slow. Like this.” First, Pietro demonstrates the placement of her feet to ensure she doesn’t make the same mistake. Pietro then taps her left hip and shoulder and his hand traces the path in the air next to her that he wants them to take. She can now see how she overextended the first time. Glancing at him as he reenacts the motions for her, Michelle finally manages to copy him adequately. 

“Better?”

“You still couldn’t even punch out Doctor Foster, but you did better that time.”

Despite never meeting her, Michelle knows that Doctor Foster is incredibly tiny and judging from pictures, kind of adorable. But she _does_ sound incredibly feisty from the interviews Michelle has read, so Pietro is probably correct. Pietro makes her practice punching with both hands until her arms ache. It takes a pathetically short amount of time for her to tire.

“Now make fists with both hands and raise them up like this,” Pietro instructs, still pushing her.

“Are you teaching me to box?” Michelle wonders aloud, mostly to distract herself from the burn in her biceps when she lifts them.

“You are much too light and weak to be effective at defeating opponents that way,” Pietro admits. “I’m teaching you how to deflect hits away from your head, because just one will likely incapacitate you.”

“Oh.” The admission actually makes Michelle drop her arms.

“That is not an insult, just a fact. The punching lesson is so you can attack if you see an opening.”

“Sure,” Michelle grumbles, raising her fists again. He’s _right_. 

“Most men will take a big, wide swing at your face,” Pietro says conversationally. “It will give you plenty of space to slip inside and block it. Your arms will take a beating but that’s okay; it’s better to get hit on the arms than the face. Strike at soft targets like the throat or nose; you won’t overpower anyone but it will give you enough time to get away. Trying to out-punch someone larger doesn’t work well for small people. You’ll use up all your energy, so don’t rely on winning that way.”

His wink is the only indication that he’s about to strike. Pietro’s closed fist comes much closer to her head than she expects, and Michelle yelps and her hand darts out reflexively. It’s not the punch she’s probably supposed to throw, but she makes fleeting contact with his face. She’s aware he could have easily avoided her strike altogether. 

“You’re faster than you look,” Pietro concedes. “If you strike at my top half, go for the nose, eyes, or throat. If you aim for the bottom half, aim for the groin. Your foot is small and might miss, so just try and drive your whole shin up there.”

Squirming, Michelle eyes his face, his neck, and in between his legs before her eyes travel back up to his face where he’s smirking at her obvious unease. “Is that an open invitation to just knee you in the balls?”

“You’re not going to be able to hit me,” Pietro counters. “This is so you get more comfortable striking at someone to hurt them. You can try and hit me as hard as you can without having to worry. You must strike with intent if you want to cause harm. It’s hard for some people, even when they’re in danger.”

And that sounds true enough. Life hasn’t really thrown Michelle many opportunities to intuit whether she’s fight or flight in life or death situations. It certainly hasn’t given her any special skills to cope with them. Telling herself that she can and will strike with intent, they dance around the ring a bit while she attempts to land a blow and he blocks or evades everything she throws at him. Michelle can feel weariness in her very bones after less than half an hour of this exercise.

“Why am I so tired? I’m barely doing anything!”

“Honestly? Your lack of cardio training is why,” Pietro explains. 

His look is patient but discerning, and Michelle tries not to blush. She’s sweaty and panting and looks way too ratchet to deserve any complimentary gaze. He’s not being creepy or inappropriate, but Michelle notices that he’s looking at her differently than any other man here has. He’s checking her out in the same way she was checking out him—casually, with no real interest, but still appreciative. 

When Michelle narrows her eyes at him, Pietro casually glances away, perhaps becoming aware he was staring. “Do you feel better now, Mischa?”

A reflexive denial perishes on her tongue when Michelle realizes that she _does_. She’s sore and hungry and exhausted, but oddly better. The physical activity really did help; apparently he knew what she needed. She’s not going to be touting the benefits of exercise any time soon, but it got her mind off of wallowing, and she counts that as a success. 

“Thank you, Pietro.” She looks at him for a moment, expression unreadable, before cracking a small grin. 

-

It’s funny how some physical activity makes her feel more human again.

After a quick trip back to her room, she finds herself perched on a couch in the common room with a notepad and a pencil, some semblance of her normal self slowly creeping back in. Sketching is one of her more sociable pursuits since it’s easy to talk and draw at the same time. Pietro’s imprecise key strokes across the room don’t throw her off the way they would if she was trying to read. She’s kind of sick of trying to re-read the same paragraph six times to get the gist and the majority of her stay here has been plagued with a mind so muddled she can barely make it through a written page. After a couple finishing touches, she flips her drawing around so Pietro can see her masterpiece.

“My nose does not look like that, Mischa,” Pietro grouses, squinting at her from the piano bench after punching out a few choppy bars of something vaguely familiar before she shakes her head.   
It’s her silent way of telling him to _pick another song_ and she’s leading him down a road of pure pop covers that’s equal parts trash and delight. Michelle sings along with Pietro on and off, depending on how embarrassing the songs are and if she knows all the lyrics. 

Showing her his Spotify account might have been a huge miscalculation on Pietro's part, but Michelle actually likes the fact he’s not a total, insufferable music snob so she’s careful not to make fun of him too much. 

(He follows ten different official Spotify covers playlists, which is precious.)

“I think your nose _totally_ looks like this,” Michelle counters, her pencil retracing the aquiline profile until the line is obnoxiously black.

“Stop it,” Pietro whines, returning to his song when she starts over-accentuating his eyelashes. “Now I look like a giraffe.” 

Michelle cackles at her mad caricature skills, honed through years tormenting her instructors and peers. Drawing Pietro struggling to remember a song he hasn’t played in _years_ is like going back to her roots. She has countless portraits of Ned’s adorable concentration face or Flash’s hilarious expression when he’s informed that his answer is incorrect during Decathlon practice. 

Pietro’s expression aboard the struggle bus is going to be her crowning jewel.

It occurs to Michelle that she hasn’t drawn a crisis picture of Peter since sophomore year, not since Gwen. Well, she’s maybe drawn one or two during school (ones where the teacher wouldn’t be a dick and share with the class or throw her drawings away) and a few from when he fell asleep on her couch (because maybe she’s also a low-key creep). But a crisis sketch was in extremely poor taste—Peter was such a mess after Gwen died, even though they hadn’t been dating for very long. She could never draw another one, not after what they’d been through.

“So does your sister know you play Rihanna covers on the piano?” Michelle asks conversationally, since scrolling through his playlists has definitely brought some of his preferences to light.

“Does Peter know all the lyrics to her songs like _you_ apparently do?” Pietro counters easily. 

“I am not ashamed to say that we _both_ sing along to Rihanna because she's that awesome.”

“Besides training, there’s not a lot to do here by myself except play music,” Pietro says pensively after the song ends. “Pop music can be pretty stupid, but most of the singers have pleasant voices and the songs are easy to play.”

“So you’re doing this all by ear and from memory?”

“Yes,” Pietro states, “although most girls are usually more impressed than you are.”

Michelle is actually _very_ impressed, but merely chuckles instead. He doesn’t seem to be in genuine pursuit of compliments.

“My sister likes to find nice arrangements for me on YouTube because she's noticed that music is pretty much the only thing that keeps me occupied around here. I can only play the piano when no one’s around, so I spend most of my time listening to it.”

“I don’t have much time during the school year, but I troll YouTube all summer long,” Michelle says. “I love the weird covers that musicians do of songs that seem totally out of their comfort zone. Honestly, some of Darcy’s white hipster bands do amazing covers of ridiculous pop songs.”

“Oh, like those compilation albums that BBC Radio 1 and Triple J do of cover songs? Do you mean songs like those? Those are actually fine.”

“I do like them for some reason,” Michelle agrees, erasing some of the unflattering additions she’s made to Pietro’s portrait. _It's not like I'm making a super secret playlist of nerdy songs that remind me of Peter or anything_...

"Some of the interpretations are quite beautiful. I love the cover that The Noisettes did of 'When You Were Young.' I was amazed."

Michelle nods in agreement. "You probably never saw it, but there was a Wes Anderson movie a few years back that featured a bunch of great David Bowie covers. I have a soft spot for really weird covers like that, too. The ones that are totally unexpected."

Pietro nods. "That guy did a great Damien Rice cover in Portuguese. I'll have to send you a link."

Michelle can feel her excitement build. She usually gets two songs into a music conversation before yet another white person is urging her to listen to Kendrick Lamar. She _loves_ his music, but she appreciates more than what people expect her to. She's sick of getting shaded for liking what she likes and is sick of people assuming her tastes are traditional and typical. Michelle recalls Sally Avril showing her a video once and she may have gone home and listened to it on repeat a bunch of times because it was so beautiful. She's never met another person that's even heard of the artist before, let alone listened to that song. 

“This is a long shot, but did you ever see the version of ‘Umbrella’ that Béatrice Martin did?” Michelle asks, before hastily adding, “Um, she also goes by Cœur de pirate.”

“Yes!” Pietro says. “That one is one of my favorites!" He looks at her and they share the same smile that people only can after finding out the other has seen the same obscure YouTube video. "Did you want me to teach you one?"

“Yes—No—Well,” Michelle stammers from her comfy spot on the couch, because if there's any song she wishes she could sing and play, it might be something like that one. “My sight reading was always bad and I can’t read music now anyway. It wouldn’t be a bad way to pass the time, if you didn't mind.”

"I am an excellent teacher, Mischa," Pietro says arrogantly, just to watch her roll her eyes. 

"A part of me is tempted to be bad on purpose just so you eat those words."

Pietro laughs and pats the bench next to him. "I'm not afraid of you."

Michelle is about to retort when she's suddenly aware that she and Pietro are not alone anymore. A face Michelle has seen all over the television and internet stands in the exact same place Michelle met her brother only the night before. She nearly drops her sketchbook at the sound of a voice that she’s heard many times in the past year, but never in person. 

“Can I watch your lesson?”

Princess Shuri gives a little wave and smile that make Michelle’s stomach tighten. Her hair is carefully styled, her clothes are immaculate, and she’s wearing tech more expensive than Kevin’s first semester at Cornell. She’s so thoroughly confident, in a way Michelle projects but never actually feels.

_Damn it_.

Despite herself, Michelle laughs. “I haven't played a song in years, Your Highness. I can't promised you'll be entertained.” 

Princess Shuri smiles. “I heard you sing ‘Unfaithful’ a few minutes ago when I walked by.”

_Fuck my life_. Michelle actually does wince. “Sorry about that, then.”

“You don’t need to apologize for sounding good, Michelle.”

“I’d ask how you know who I am, but you’re probably the smartest person in this facility,” Michelle quips truthfully. She twists her face into what she hopes is a playful smirk. “You probably have your ways.”

_And I don’t really want to know that Peter shares all of our private conversations and pictures with you too._

“Nice deflection on the compliment,” Shuri observes good naturedly, slowly walking around the piano so that she’s standing between her and Pietro. She’s looking for sheet music, perhaps, but Pietro’s just making it up as he goes.

“Public compliments makes me uncomfortable,” Michelle admits truthfully, and holy shit that just came tumbling out and she can’t cram it back in. “Plus 'Unfaithful' is maybe like my fifth favorite Rihanna song, so it’s not my best work.”

Shuri looks amused and she’s got a sparkle in her eye. There is a definite challenge there. “What’s your best Rihanna song, then?”

There really is no other answer besides “Umbrella,” which not only were she and Pietro just talking about, but in Michelle’s humble opinion it should be _everyone’s_ ride-or-die Rihanna song. She says as much, and Shuri hums in agreement. 

"I haven't played the piano in years, so it won't be a great performance."

"But you can at least sing. Pietro can play the piano for you, right?" The princess leans back a little, a smile on her face but her eyes sharp. It's not threatening, but it _is_ shrewd. Michelle knows if she backs off of this challenge it will only make her anxiety skyrocket. 

It occurs to Michelle that Shuri’s not out to get her, but Shuri _is_ out to be impressed. And despite the fact Michelle doesn’t _feel_ impressive, or happy, or even content, she will not back down from a challenge like that. It’s how she’s won countless academic competitions, it’s how she manages to consistently turn down some of the most popular boys at school even with all their friends watching, and it’s how she meets the curiosity of Peter’s teammates with candor. No one is going to make sport of her.

If Shuri has a good impression of her and wants it reinforced, it’s only because of something Peter said. And Peter might be a giant douche who’s been breaking her heart for the past two years and more significantly, in the past two hours, but he’s still her best friend. She’s not going to let him down because she’s afraid. Even at his worst, Peter still deserves _that_ and Michelle still deserves her dignity.

With a careful measure of carelessness, Michelle tosses her sketchbook on the couch and rises with practiced indifference. She navigates around Shuri seamlessly and assumes a spot at Pietro’s side. This isn't something she'd normally do. She would _never_ perform in front of her classmates. But short of shots being fired, Michelle's been put on blast. She doesn't back down from that shit.

She’s performed in front of people before—singing, when her parents made her go to church as a kid; and dancing, when she still took classes and had recitals—and she was never shy then. She’s not shy during Decathlon tournaments or Harvard interviews or shy, like, _ever_. 

Michelle feels _nervous_ but doesn’t show it; whether they make her better or worse, those feelings are for her, not the consumption of others. 

“Hey Pietro, remember how we were just talking about Béatrice Martin?”

Michelle is not an adorable and blonde French Canadian chanteuse, but she _can_ sing. Pietro’s pale and pretty eyes scan her face and for the life of her, she’s not sure what he’s looking for. After a moment, he merely smiles. 

“That’s the version you want to do, Mischa?”

Michelle nods. She’s not trying to ignore Shuri, but if Michelle looks at her or talks to her she’s going to chicken out or possibly faint from nerves. The intro Pietro plays is short; the two arpeggio chords give her just enough time for a deep breath.

It feels like cheating, but Michelle uses the same trick she did when she was a young girl: she imagines her mother is the only person in the room and performs just for her. It cuts down on distractions and keeps her from getting anxious. The lyrics fall effortlessly from her lips; words learned over ten years ago when Michelle was only in second grade. The arrangement is one she listened to endlessly the summer before her junior year—the summer she spent with Peter before she realized she was in love with him.

She still wistfully thinks back to that simple time. She didn’t worry about losing him to her own insecurity and she didn’t know he was Spider-Man. She could just hold him and coax smiles from him and she selfishly enjoyed him in a way she hasn’t been able to before or since. She didn’t have an agenda and didn’t feel like her feelings meant she was taking advantage of him somehow. Leave it to Michelle to turn "love" into a four letter word.

_Peter just…makes me so happy sometimes. More than anything else, I think this ridiculous song reminds me of_ us. _It's the sappy lyrics and the fact we always sing it together when it comes on. But I didn’t even get to tell him I love him and I’m already not good enough. He sent me away like our friendship meant nothing. Being rejected has always been my worst fear and it literally just happened today_.

Before Michelle knows it, the song is over. Awareness comes in waves; silence after the last notes from the song die away, Pietro’s unfamiliar expression of surprise and tenderness, the phone in Shuri’s hand recording the last three minutes of her life in ten-second increments, the realization that maybe Michelle should be self-conscious, the astonishment on Shuri’s face when she finally drops her hand, the ping of the phone in Michelle’s pocket alerting her to an update on Snapchat.

“Wow.”

Michelle blinks, unsure who spoke. “Huh?”

“That was really good,” Pietro whispers.

Michelle is indignant. “You’ve heard me sing for the past half hour and all you did was make fun of me.”

“It wasn’t anything quite like that,” Pietro says quietly. 

Heat floods Michelle’s face and she realizes that Shuri hasn’t taken her eyes off of her. Embarrassment causes her to toy with her hair and suddenly she remembers how irrationally uncomfortable she got earlier at the thought of Peter showing T’Challa and Shuri glimpses into their friendship. God, they must have seen all the ridiculous selfies she sends him!

“Why did you post that on Snapchat?” Michelle asks Shuri suddenly. She doesn’t have to check to be sure; she just _knows_. Her tone isn’t accusing or sharp but her words are very direct. "Maybe that wasn’t something I wanted everyone to see.”

Michelle is so, so careful to keep her tone polite. Shuri didn’t do anything a woman their age wouldn’t ordinarily do; Michelle’s not exactly _mad_. But she never really sang in front of Peter before. She doesn’t feel _ready_ for him to see her like that. 

It matters what she shows to Peter or in this case, what Peter sees. It’s all she’s really cared about in her social life since sophomore year. She wants some semblance of control and she wants to keep some things private. Her relationship with Peter is special; she’s guarded it carefully. Why doesn’t he do the same? What does everyone in this place know so much about her? 

Shuri seems surprised, not offended, when Michelle dares to meet her eyes. Michelle has struck a genius speechless and she’s equal parts impressed and horrified. Shuri looks awkward in a way she never does in news footage or interviews as her phone continues to beep and buzz.

Michelle feels the reflexive urge to apologize. She’s managed to insult a princess and she’s waiting for the Dora Milaje to jump out from behind the corner and hit her with spears (she knows that’s not how any of that works but she’s cursed with a rich imagination) and Pietro is going to totally disown her now. She’s gone and upset everyone’s _favorite_ because sometimes she's just that girl.

“Doctor Foster and I are meeting up on Tuesday night. Would you like to join us?” Shuri posits all of this as if the last thirty seconds didn’t happen.

_What?_

“I don’t want to intrude,” Michelle says truthfully.

“Listening to her talk about the universe is a wonderful experience, even if you don't know much about space. I think you would appreciate it.”

“Why?” Michelle asks, and immediately wishes she could take it back for a number of reasons. She doesn’t really want to know. 

"I know you're not here by choice, but this is a great opportunity to meet some of the most remarkable people in the world. You might not meet her otherwise; she’s only at the facility for half the day.” 

"No, I mean why would you even care if I take advantage of all these opportunities or not? I wasn't trying to be mean to you, but I wasn't exactly nice to you a minute ago." 

“Because I did something you didn’t like and instead of letting me get away with it, you called me on it. My brother says I don’t pay enough attention to other people’s boundaries but so few people let me know what they are. How will I ever learn?”

“Your brother quotes _The Princess Bride_ so I wouldn’t let _everything_ he says get you down,” Michelle mutters. "But you could just ask next time. Please.”

Shuri seems to consider this. “Okay.”

“Thanks,” Michelle says, offering a watery smile.

Shuri gives a tentative smile back, and Michelle is sure she visibly sags in relief. The princess tucks her phone out of sight (because bless her, that dress has pockets) and glances towards the kitchen. 

“Did you two want to have lunch with me? I haven’t eaten since my brother and I got here last night.”

Without her permission, Michelle’s eyes drift over to Pietro, who shrugs. She's not sure if the knot in her stomach will ease enough for her to eat, but at this point doesn't want to be construed as any more impolite.

Michelle finds her legs taking her to the kitchen before she can even say yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead, I just have only a few free days a month to write. Every single day I think of things I can add to this story to make it better. I'm sorry for every day I make you guys wait.


End file.
